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UNTRODDEN PEAKS

UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
 1 
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME,
A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.
With upwards of Seventy Illustrations, engraved on Wood by G. Pearson,
after Finished Drawings executed on the spot by the Author.
A New Edition, Revised.

UNTRODDEN PEAKS

AND

UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS
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By AMELIA Bf EDWARDS
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author of "a thousand miles up the nile," "lord brackenbury,'
" debenham's vow," "Barbara's history," &c, &c.

SECOND EDITION

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PEASANT WOMAN OF LIVINALLUNGO

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK
1890

LONDON :
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIAKS.

The right of Translation is reserved.]

THE FIRST EDITION OF THIS BOOK

WAS DEDICATED

MY AMERICAN FRIENDS IN ROME.

I DESIRE TO DEDICATE
THIS SECOND EDITION
TO
MY AMERICAN FRIENDS
IN ALL PARTS OF THE WORLD

PREFACE
TO THE SECOND EDITION.

In preparing this Second Edition of a book which
has long been out of print, I have been careful to add
such information as may render it more useful to tra
vellers in the Dolomite country. Some rough bridle
paths have been superseded by good roads ; some old
hostelries have been closed ; some new inns have been
opened ; and the approach to Cortina has been much
facilitated by the extension of the Conegliano line to
Vittorio, and by the network of new branch lines con
necting Belluno, Feltre, and Bassano with the main
lines from Venice and Verona. Beyond these improve
ments, little is changed since " L. and the Writer"
made their pleasant pilgrimage. The people are
almost as unsophisticated, and quite as friendly, as
ever ; and if there should now be found less margin for

viii PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
adventure of the mild kind described in the following
pages, there is, by way of compensation, the certainty
of better food and better accommodation than always
fell to the lot of those who played the part of pioneers
sixteen years ago.
I have thought it best to leave the original nar
rative unaltered, adding only a few foot-notes as to
routes, inns, &c, where necessary. The new roads
and lines of railway will be found duly entered in the
map. AMELIA B. EDWARDS.
Westbury-on-Trym,
May, 1889.

PREFACE
TO THE FIRST EDITION (1873).
The district described in the following pages oc
cupies that part of the South-Eastern Tyrol which
lies between Botzen, Brunecken, Innichen, and Belluno.
Within the space thus roughly indicated are found
those remarkable limestone mountains called the
Dolomites. Till the publication of Ball's Guide to the Eastern
Alps in 1868, and the appearance of Messrs. Gilbert
and Churchill's joint volume in 1864, — the Dolomite
district was scarcely known even by name to any but
scientific travellers. A few geologists found their way
now and then to Predazzo ; a few artists, attracted in
the first instance to Cadore as the birthplace of Titian,
carried their sketch-books up the Ampezzo Thai ; but
there it ended. Even now, the general public is so
slightly informed upon the subject that it is by no

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

means uncommon to find educated persons who have
never heard of the Dolomites at all, or who take them
for a religious sect, like the Mormons or the Druses.
Nor is this surprising when we consider the nature
of the ground lying within the area just named ; the
absence of roads ; the impossibility of traversing the
heart of the country, except on foot or on mule-back ;
the tedious postal arrangements ; the want of tele
graphic communication ; and the primitive quality of
the accommodation provided for travellers. A good road
is the widest avenue to knowledge ; but there is at
present only one good and complete road in the whole
district — namely, the strada regia which, traversing
the whole length of the Ampezzo Thai, connects the
Venetian provinces with Lower Austria. Other frag
ments of roads there are ; but then they are only
fragments, leading sometimes from point to point
within an amphitheatre of mountains traversed only
by mule-tracks.
When, however, one has said that there are few roads
— that letters, having sometimes to be carried by
walking postmen over a succession of passes, travel
slowly and are delivered irregularly — that the inns are
not only few and far between, but often of the humblest

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

kind — and that, except at Cortina, there is not a tele
graph station in the whole country, one has said all that
can be said in disparagement of the district. For the
rest, it is difficult to speak of the people, of the climate,
of the scenery, without risk of being thought too partial
or too enthusiastic. To say that the arts of extortion
are here unknown — that the old patriarchal notion of
hospitality still survives, miraculously, in the minds of
the inn-keepers — that it is as natural to the natives of
these hills and valleys to be kind, and helpful, and
disinterested, as it is natural to the Swiss to be rapacious
— that here one escapes from hackneyed sights, from
overcrowded hotels, from the dreary routine of table
d'hotes, from the flood of tourists, — is, after all, but to
say that life in the South-Eastern Tyrol is yet free from
all the discomforts which have of late years made
Switzerland unendurable ; and that for those who love
sketching and botany, mountain-climbing and mountain
air, and who desire when they travel to leave London
and Paris behind them, the Dolomites offer a " play
ground " far more attractive than the Alps.
That a certain amount of activity and some power to
resist fatigue, are necessary to the proper enjoyment of
this new playground, must be conceded from the

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

beginning. The passes are too long and too fatiguing
for ladies on foot, and should not be attempted by any
who cannot endure eight and sometimes ten hours of
mule-riding. The food and cooking, as will be seen in
the course of the following narrative, are for the most
part indifferent ; and the albergos, as I have already
said, are often of the humblest kind. The beds, how
ever, in even "the worst inn's worst room" are generally
irreproachable ; and this alone covers a multitude of
shortcomings. Anyone who has visited Ober-Ammergau
during the performances of the Passion Play can form a
tolerably exact idea of the sort of accommodation to
be met with at Cortina, Caprile, Primiero, Predazzo,
Paneveggio, Corfara, and St. Ulrich. A small store of
tea, arrowroot, and Liebig's extract, a bottle or two of
wine and brandy, a flask of spirits of wine and
an Etna, are almost indispensable adjuncts to a
lengthened tour in these mountains. The basket
which contains them adds but little to the impedimenta,
and immensely to the well-being of the traveller.
For ladies, side-saddles are absolutely necessary,
there being only two in the whole country, and but one
of these for hire. There is no need to take them out
from England. They can always be bought at the

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

last large town through which travellers pass on their
way to the Dolomites, and sold again at the first they
come to on leaving the district.
Some knowledge of Italian and German is also indis
pensable. French here is of no use whatever ; and
Italian is almost universally spoken. It is only in the
Grodner Thai, the Gader Thai, and the country north
of the Ampezzo, that one comes upon a purely German
population. The Dolomite district is most easily approached from
either Venice, Botzen, or Brunecken. All that is
grandest, all that is most attractive to the artist, the
geologist, and the Alpine climber, lies midway between
these three points, and covers an area of about thirty-
five miles by fifty. The scenes which the present
writer has attempted to describe, all lie within that
narrow radius.
A word ought, perhaps, to be said with regard to the
title of this book, which, at first hearing, may be taken
to promise more than the author is prepared to fulfil.
But it means simply that here in South Tyrol, within
seventy-two hours of London, there may be found a
large number of yet "untrodden peaks," and a network
of valleys so literally "unfrequented" that we journeyed

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

sometimes for days together without meeting a single
traveller either in the inns or on the roads, and encoun
tered only three parties of English during the whole time
between entering the country on the Conegliano side and
leaving it at Botzen.
Of these unascended Dolomites, many exceed 10,000
feet in height ; and some — as the Cima di Fradusta, the
Pala di San Martino and the Sass Maor — are so
difficult, that the mountaineer who shall first set foot
upon their summits will have achieved a feat in no way
second to that of the first ascent of the Matterhorn.
Of the nature and origin of Dolomite much has been
written and much conjectured by French and German
geologists ; but nothing as yet seems definitely proved.
The Coral Reef theory of Baron Richthofen seems,
however, to be gaining general acceptance, and to the
unscientific reader it sounds sufficiently conclusive.
He grounds his theory upon certain facts, such as : —
1. The singular isolation of these mountains, many of
which stand detached and alone, falling away steeply on
all sides in a way that cannot be the result of any process
of denudation.
2. The presence in their substance of such marine
deposits as are found in the same position in the Coral

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

Reefs now in progress of formation in the Pacific and
Indian Oceans, and on the Australian coast-line.
3. The absence of all deep-sea deposits.
4. The absence of all trace of volcanic origin.
5. The peculiarity of their forms, which reproduce in
a remarkable manner the forms of the Coral Reef
"Atolls" of the present day, being vertical, like huge
walls, towards the wash of the tide, and supported on
the lee side by sloping buttresses.
6. Their lines of curvature, and the kind of enclosures
which they fence in ; so again reproducing the construc
tion of the Coral Reefs, which thus embay spaces of
shallow water.
7. Finally, the multiform evidences (too numerous to
be dwelt upon here) of how the Dolomite must have
been slowly and steadily superimposed during long ages
upon lower original beds of other rock, and the difficulty
of accounting for this process by any other hypothesis.
" The Schlern," says Richthofen, taking this for his
representative mountain, " is a Coral Reef; and the
entire formation of Schlern Dolomite has in like manner
originated through animal activity."*
* I am indebted to Mr. G. C. Churchill's admirable " Physical Description
of the Dolomite District," for the particulars epitomized above.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

The Dolomite derives its name from that of Monsieur
Dolomieu, an eminent French savant of the last century,
who travelled in South Tyrol somewhere about the years
1789 and 1790, and first directed the attention of the
scientific world towards the structural peculiarities of
this kind of limestone.
In conclusion, I can only add that I have tried to give
a faithful impression of the country and the people; but
that, having endeavoured when on the spot to sketch
that which defied the pencil, so I fear that in the
following pages I have striven to describe that which
equally defies the pen. AMELIA B. EDWARDS.
Westbury-on-Trym,
June 5, 1873.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
MONTE GENEROSO TO VENICE. PAGE
HOTEL AT MONTE GENEROSO — WONDERFUL PANORAMA — DREAMS
ABOUT DOLOMITES — DIFFICULTIES — THE REDOUBTABLE COURIER
— THE REV. JOHN R. — CHOICE OF ROUTES— MENDRISIO TO COMO
— COMO CATHEDRAL— FELLOW TRAVELLERS ON BOARD THE
STEAMER — BELLAGGIO — LECCO TO BERGAMO, POST-HASTE —
PANORAMIC SCENERY BY RAIL — VENICE UNDER A NEW ASPECT
—WE LAY IN STORE OF PROVISIONS FOR THE COMING JOURNEY
— THE QUESTION OF SIDE-SADDLES — READY TO START . . 27

CHAPTER II.
VENICE TO LONGARONE.
TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN— VENICE TO CONEGLIANO— FAREWELL
TO RAILWAYS AND CIVILISATION— WE TAKE TO THE ROAD—
CENEDA — SERRAVALLE AND ITS GREAT TITIAN— THE GORGE
AND LAKE OF SERRAVALLE— THE BOSCO DEL CONSIGLIO— THE
LAGO MORTO— SANTA CROCE— FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE DOLO
MITES — A PLAGUE OF FLIES— SKETCHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES
— CAPO DI PONTE — THE ANCJENT BASIN OF THE PIAVE —
. VALLEY OF THE PIAVE— LONGARONE— AN INN FOR A GHOST-
STORY ....... . • 41
b

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER III.
LONGARONE TO CORTINA.

PAGE
THE PIC GALLINA— A COMMUNICATIVE PRIEST — THE TIMBER TRADE
—THE SMALLEST CHURCH IN ITALY— CASTEL LAVAZZO— PERA-
ROLO— A VISION OF THE ANTELAO — THE ZIGZAG OF MONTE
ZUCCO— TAI CADORE— ONE OF THE FINEST DRIVES IN EUROPE
— THE GLORIES OF THE AMPEZZO THAL — THE PELMO — THE
ROCHETTA — THE LANDSLIP OF 1816 — THE ANTELAO — THE CRODA
MALCORA — SORAPIS — WE CROSS THE AUSTRIAN FRONTIER — THE
BEC DI MEZZODI — THE TOFANA — MONTE CRISTALLO — CORTINA
— ARRIVAL AT GHEDINA'S INN — " IL TUCKETT'S " NAME PROVES
A WORD OF MIGHT — A THOROUGH TYROLEAN HOSTELRY— PRE
PARATIONS FOR THE SAGRO . . 6l

CHAPTER IV.
AT CORTINA.
CORTINA, ITS SITUATION, CLIMATE, AND TRADE — A MESSA CANTATA
— THE VILLAGE CEMETERY— A FIRST ASCENT— THE GHEDINAS
AND THEIR ART- AN UNKNOWN MOUNTAIN— AN AFTERNOON
STROLL— THE ANTELAO— PLEASANT TYROLEAN WAYS— STROL
LING ACROBATS — DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP BETWEEN
OURSELVES AND THE COURIER— DIFFICULTIES ARISING THERE
FROM — SANTO SIORPAES — THE SIDE-SADDLE QUESTION AGAIN —
A TYROLEAN "CARETTA" — NEAR VIEW OF THE TOFANA — AMAZING
COSTUMES— THE PEZZES— SUMMIT OF THE TRE SASSI PASS—
THE MARMOLATA — THE "SIGNORA CUOCA "

CHAPTER V.
CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE.
THE SAGRO OF CORTINA— A TYROLEAN SERMON — THE PEASANT
MAIDEN OF LIVINALLUNGO — THE COURIER REPLACED —
AN AMPEZZO WEDDING— THE TOFANA — PEUTELSTEIN — THE

CONTENTS.

PAGE
HOLLENSTEIN THAL — THE CRODA ROSSA— LANDRO AND THE
DURREN SEE— THE DREI ZINNEN— THE START FOR AURONZO
—THE CHURCH OF THE CRUCIFIX— PIEVE DI CADORE— THE
HOUSE IN WHICH TITIAN WAS BORN — THE CASA ZAMPIERI —
AN INVASION — TITIAN'S FIRST FRESCO — THE ODIOUS LITTLE
GIRL — THE DUOMO — DON ANTONIO DA VIA— THE CADORE
TITIANS — THE FOUR TEMPERAS — A CURIOUS ANTIQUE PRE-
DELLA ....  Ill

CHAPTER VI.
AURONZO AND VAL BUONA.
DOMEGGE AND LOZZO— THE LEGEND OF MONTE CORNON — TRE
PONTI— THE ANTIQUITY OF THE PIAVE — THE VAL D'AURONZO
—NATIVE POLITENESS— VILLA GRANDE AND VILLA PICCOLA—
". L'ALTRO ALBERGO "—AN UNPREPOSSESSING POPULATION— THE
MARMAROLE— A DESERTED SILVER - MINE— THE NEW ROAD-
DIFFICULTIES OVERCOME — VAL BUONA — THE "CIRQUE" OF
THE CRODA MALCORA — BASTIAN THE SOLITARY— THE MESU-
RINA ALP — A MOUNTAIN TARN — THE TRE CROCI PASS . , 153

CHAPTER VII.
CAPRILE.
IMPORTANCE OF CORTINA AS A DOLOMITE CENTRE — OUR DE
PARTURE FOR CAPRILE — THE " SIGNORA CUOCA " AGAIN—
CASTEL D'ANDRAZ— FINNAZZER'S INN — THE UPPER VALLEY OF
THE CORDEVOLE— A SUCCESSION OF RAIN-STORMS— A CORDIAL
WELCOME— CAPRILE— THE GAME OF PALLO— AUSTRIANS AND
ITALIANS— THE CIVETTA— THE LAKE OF ALLEGHE— THE GREAT
BERGFALLS OF 1 77 1— THE RAPE OF THE SIDE-SADDLE— THE
COL DI SANTA LUCIA — TITIAN'S LOST FRESCO— SUNSET ON
THE CIVETTA  • l77

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VIII.
AT CAPRILE. PAGE
UNSETTLED WEATHER — PROCESSIONS AND BELLS — RESOURCES OF
CAPRILE — HISTORY OF CAPRILE IN THE MIDDLE AGES — THE
FREE STATE OF ROCCA— LOCAL NOTABILITIES— THE GORGE OF
SOTTOGUDA — THE SASSO DI RONCH— CLEMENTI AND THE TWO
NESSOLS — THE GOATHERD'S CROSS — THE KING AND QUEEN OF
THE DOLOMITES— A MOUNTAIN IN RUINS — THE SASSO BIANCO
— A TEMPTING PROPOSAL— LEGENDS OF THE SASSO DI RONCH. 203

CHAPTER IX.
TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO.
DIFFICULTY OF GETTING UNDER WAY — FISHING FOR TIMBER —
CENCENIGHE— A VALLEY OF ROCKS— AGORDO AND ITS PIAZZA
— THE MINES OF THE VAL IMPERINA — THE DINNER
" DOLOROUS " — A SPLENDID STORM— VOLTAGO AND FRASSENE—
AN "UNTRODDEN PEAK"— THE GOSALDA PASS— A LAND OF
FAMINE— MONTE PRABELLO— THE CEREDA PASS— A JOURNEY
WITHOUT AN END— CASTEL PIETRA — PRIMIERO AT LAST —
ANCIENT LINEAGE 'OF THE TYROLEAN INNKEEPERS . . . 23!

CHAPTER X.
PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO.
PRIMIERO AND ITS HISTORY— THE EARLY SILVER-WORKERS AND
THEIR OFFERING — TRANSACQUA AND ITS TITIAN — THE
PRIMIERO DOLOMITES— THE VAL DI CANALI— MONTE PAVIONE
AND THE VETTE DI FELTRE— MONTE ARZON — THE PONTE
DELLO SCHIOS— A PRIMIERO PROGRESSIONIST— THE COMING
TENOR — SIGNOR SARTORIS AND THE ART OF APICULTURE
— THE UPPER VALLEY OF THE CISMONE — SAN MARTINO DI
CASTROZZA — A SCENE FOR A GHOST-STORY — THE CIMON DELLA
PALA— THE COSTONZELLA PASS— THE HOSPICE OF PANEVEGGIO
—THE VAL TRAVIGNOLO— PREDAZZO  255

CONTENTS. xxj

CHAPTER XI.
THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. PAGE
A VILLAGE IN A CRATER— PREDAZZO AND ITS COMMERCE — PRO
SPERITY VERSUS PICTURESQUENESS — FOOTSTEPS OF THE
ETRUSCANS — THE VAL D'AVISIO — MOENA — THE PORPHYRY OF
THE FASSA THAL— VIGO AND THE FAT MAIDEN— CAMPIDELLO —
MONTE VERNALE — THE GORGE OF THE AVISIO— THE FEDAJA
ALP AND THE FEDAJA LAKE — THE GORGE OF SOTTOGUDA '
AGAIN— HOME TO CAPRILE  287
CHAPTER XII.
THE SASSO BIANCO.
OROGRAPHY OF THE SASSO BIANCO— ITS PANORAMIC POSITION-
ITS SUPERFICIAL EXTENT — ITS GEOLOGY — ASCENT OF THE
MOUNTAIN — AN EXQUISITE MORNING— ANOTHER SAGRO — THE
CORN-ZONE — THE PEZZE PROPERTY— THE WILD-FLOWER ZONE
— THE UPPER PASTURAGES — WAITING FOR THE MISTS — THE
LAST SLOPE — THE SUMMIT— THE VIEW TO THE NORTH — THE
ZILLERTHAL AND ANTHOLZER ALPS— THE GROSS VENEDIGER
—GLIMPSES ON THE SOUTH SIDE— ESTIMATED HEIGHT OF THE
SASSO BIANCO — THE DESCENT — GRATIFICATION OF THE
NATIVES  307
CHAPTER XIII.
FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE.
ON THE ROAD AGAIN— NEAR VIEW OF THE CIVETTA— ADVENTURE
WITH A SNAKE — MONTE FERNAZZA — MONTE COLDAI — THE
MARMOLATA FROM THE PASS OF ALLEGHE— UNEXPECTED
VIEW OF THE PELMO — THE MOUNTAINS OF VAL DI ZOLDO —
THE BACK OF THE CIVETTA — THE VALLEY OF ZOLDO —
THE HORRORS OF CERCENA'S INN — THE SCULPTOR OF
, BRAGAREZZA — ZOPPE ; ITS PAROCO, AND ITS TITIAN —
LUNCHEON IN A TYROLEAN COUNTRY-HOUSE — BRUSETOLON
AND HIS WORKS — SPECIMEN OF A NATIVE — VALLEY AND PASS
OF PALLAFAVERA — IN THE SHADE OF THE PELMO— PESCUL —
SELVA AND THE ABORIGINES — CAPRILE AGAIN .... 329

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XIV.
CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. PAGE
CHOICE OF ROUTES — GOODBYE TO CAPRILE — PIEVE D'ANDRAZ — THE
UPPER VALLEY OF LIVINALLUNGO— LAST VIEW OF THE PELMO
— THE CAMPOLUNGO PASS — CORFARA— A COMING PAINTER—
A POPULATION OF ARTISTS — TICINI AND HIS WORKS AT
CORFARA — A PHENOMENON— THE COLFOSCO PASS— THE GROD-
NER THAL— THE CAPITAL OF TOYLAND— THE TRADE OF ST.
ULRICH — THE LADIN TONGUE — RELICS OF ETRURIA — THE
PUFLER GORGE— THE SEISSER ALP — THE LANG KOFEL, THE
PLATT KOFEL, AND THE SCHLERN — THE BATHS OF RATZES —
DESCENT INTO THE VALLEY OF THE EISACK — BOTZEN — THE
ROSENGARTEN ONCE MORE— FAREWELL . . . . 359

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

MAP.

AUTHOR'S ROUTE MAP

PAGE 25

FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE SA'SSO BIANCO FROM VAL CORDEVOLE .... Frontispiece.
MONTE ANTELAO . . . . . . Toface 93
MONTE CR1STALLO AND PIC POPENA . . . .,,125
TITIAN'S BIRTHPLACE . . . ..,134
THE SASSO DI RONCH .  „ 221
PRIMIERO . . .  ,,258
PANORAMIC VIEW OF VAL DI CANALI . .... 268
MONTE PELMO  . . . To face 349
THE ROSENGARTEN, FROM BOTZEN  ,; 359
WOOD ENGRAVINGS IN THE TEXT.
PEASANT WOMAN OF LIVINALLUNGO  Vignette.
LAKE OF SANTA CROCE  • • • 53
THE PIC GALLINA . ...  62
CASTEL LAVAZZO ...  64

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE
HIGH STREET, CORTINA . .  "JJ,
UNKNOWN MOUNTAINS NEAR CORTINA  89
THE DREI ZINNEN . . . . . 1 26
NEAR CORTINA . .  1 29
VALLEY OF AURONZO  1 59
VENETIAN LION AT CAPRILE  187
MONTE CIVETTA . .  189
THE SASSO DI RONCH . .  213
THE SASSO BIANCO . .  . . 223
CASTEL PIETRA   248
PREDAZZO .  290
MONTE MARMOLATA, FROM THE PASS OF ALLEGHE .... 333
MONTE SERRATA  344
THE AIGUILLES OF THE SCHLERN .  385

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MONTE GENEROSO TO VENICE.

HOTEL AT MONTE GENEROSO — WONDERFUL PANORAMA — DREAMS
ABOUT DOLOMITES — DIFFICULTIES— THE REDOUTABLE COURIER —
THE REV. JOHN R. — CHOICE OF ROUTES — MENDRISIO TO COMO —
COMO CATHEDRAL — FELLOW TRAVELLERS ON BOARD THE STEAMER
— FELLAGGIO — LECCO TO BERGAMO, POST-HASTE — PANORAMIC
SCENERY BY RAIL — VENICE UNDER A NEW ASPECT — WE LAY IN
STORE OF PROVISIONS FOR THE COMING JOURNEY — THE QUESTION
OF SIDE-SADDLES— READY TO START.

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UNTRODDEN PEAKS

AND

UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

CHAPTER I.
MONTE GENEROSO TO VENICE.
An autumn in North Italy, a winter in Rome, a
springtide in Sorrento, brought summer round again —
the rich Italian summer, with its wealth of fruits and
flowers, its intolerable heat, and its blinding brightness.
The barbarian tide had long ago set northwards and
overflowed into Switzerland. Even those who had
lingered longest were fain at last to turn their faces
towards the hills ; and so it happened that the writer
and a friend who had joined her of late in Naples, found
themselves, about the middle of June, 1872, breathing
the cooler airs of Monte Generoso.
Here was a pleasant hotel, filled to overflowing, and
numbering among its guests many Roman friends of the
past season. Here, too, were green slopes, and shady
woods, and meadows splendid with such wild flowers as
none of us had ever seen elsewhere. The steaming lakes,
B 2

28 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
from which we had just escaped — Como, Lugano and
Maggiore- — lay in still, shining sheets three thousand feet
below. The vast Lombardflats on the one side simmered
all day in burning mists to the farthest horizon. The
great snow-ranges bounding Switzerland and Tyrol
on the other, glowed with the rose of every dawn,
and turned purple when the sun went down behind them
in glory every evening.
Having this wondrous panorama constantly before
our eyes, with its changing lights and shadows, and its
magical effects of cloud-wreath and shower — catching
now a sudden glimpse of the Finsteraarhorn and the
Bernese range — now an apparitional vision of Monte
Rosa, or the Matterhorn, or even (on a clear morning,
from the summit behind the hotel) of the far-distant
Ortler Spitze on the Tyrolese border — we began, some
how, to think and talk less of our proposed tour in the
Engadine ; to look more and more longingly towards
the north-eastern horizon ; and to dream in a vague way
of those mystic mountains beyond Verona which we
knew of, somewhat indefinitely, as the Dolomites.
The Dolomites ! It was full fifteen years since I had
first seen sketches of them by a great artist not long
since passed away, and their strange outlines and still
Stranger colouring had haunted me ever since. I thought
of them as every summer came round; I regretted them
every autumn ; I cherished dim hopes about them every
spring. Sketching about Venice in a gondola a year
before the time of which I write, I used to be ever
looking towards the faint blue peaks beyond Murano.
In short, it was an old longing ; and now, high up on

MONTE GENEROSO TO VENICE.

the mountain side, with Zermatt and the Engadine close
within reach, and the multitudinous Alps extending
across half the horizon, it came back upon me in
such force as to make all that these great mountains
and passes had to show seem tame and undesirable.
Fortunately, my friend (whom I will call L. for bre
vity) had also read and dreamed of Dolomites, and was
as eager to know more of them as myself; so we soon
reached that stage in the history of every expedition
when vague possibilities merge into planned certain
ties, and the study of maps and routes becomes the
absorbing occupation of every day.
There were, of course, some difficulties to be overcome ;
not only those difficulties of accommodation and transit
which make the Dolomite district less accessible than
many more distant places, but special difficulties arising
out of our immediate surroundings. There was Sophia,'1
for instance (L.'s maid), who, being delicate, was less
able for mountain work than ourselves. And there
was the supreme difficulty of the courier — a gentleman
of refined and expensive tastes, who abhorred what is
generally understood by " roughing it," despised
primitive simplicity, and exacted that his employers
should strictly limit their love of the picturesque to
districts abundantly intersected by railways and well
furnished with first-class hotels.
That this illustrious man should look with favour on
our new project was obviously hopeless ; so we discussed
it secretly " with bated breath," and the proceedings at
once assumed the delightful character of a conspiracy.
The Rev. John R., who had been acting for some weeks

30 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fr* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
as English chaplain at Stresa, was in the plot from the
beginning. He had himself walked through part of our
Dolomite route a few years before, and so gave us just
that sort of practical advice which is, of all help in travel
ling, the most valuable. For this ; for his gallant in
difference to the ultimate wrath of the courier ; and for
the energetic way in which (with a noble disregard of
appearances, for which we can never be sufficiently grate
ful) he made appointments with us in secluded summer-
houses, and attended stealthy indoor conferences at hours
when the servants were supposed to be at meals, I here
beg to offer him our sincere and hearty thanks.
All being at last fully planned, it became necessary to
announce our change of route. The great man was ac
cordingly summoned ; the writer, never famous for moral
courage, ignominiously retreated ; and L., the dauntless,
undertook the service of danger. Of that tremendous
interview no details ever transpired. Enough that L.
came out from it composed but victorious ; and that the
great man, greater than ever under defeat, comported
himself thenceforth with such a nicely adjusted air of
martyrdom and dignity as defies description.
Now, there are three ways by which to enter the
Dolomite district ; namely . by Botzen, by Brunecken,
or by Venice ; and it fell in better with our after
plans to begin from Venice. So on Thursday the
27th of June, we bade farewell to our friends on
Monte Generoso, and went down in all the freshness
and beauty of the early morning. It was a day that
promised well for the beginning of such a journey.
There had been a heavy thunderstorm the night before,

MONTE GENEROSO TO VENICE. 31
and the last cumuli were yet rolling off in a long billowy
rack upon the verge of land and sky. The plains of
Lombardy glittered wide and far ; Milan gleamed, a
marble-speck, in the mid-distance ; and farthest seen of
all, a faint, pure obelisk of snow, traced as it were upon
the transparent air, rose Monte Viso, a hundred and
twenty miles away.
But soon the rapidly descending road and thickening
woods shut out the view, and in less than two hours we
were down again in Mendrisio, a clean little town con
taining an excellent hotel, where travellers bound for
the mountain, and travellers coming down to the plains,
are wont to rest. Here we parted from our heavy
luggage, keeping only a few small bags for use during
the tour. Here also we engaged a carriage to take us
on to Como, where we arrived about midday, after a
dull and dusty drive of some two hours more.
It was our intention to push on that afternoon as far
as Bellaggio, and in the morning to take the early
steamer to Lecco, where we hoped to catch the g.25
train reaching Venice at 4.30. Tired as we now were,
it was pleasant to learn that the steamer would not
leave till three, and that we might put up for a couple
of hours at the Hotel Volta — not only the best in Como,
but one of the best in Italy. Here we rested and took
luncheon, and, despite the noontide blaze out of doors,
contrived to get as far as that exquisite little miniature
in marble, the Cathedral. Lingering there till the last
moment, examining the cameo-like bas-reliefs of the
facade, the strange beasts of unknown date that support
the holy-water basins near the entrance, and the delicate

32 UNTRODDEN PEAKS cr» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

Italian-Gothic of the nave and aisles, we ran back
just in time to see our effects being wheeled down to
the pier, and to find the steamer not only crowded with
passengers, but the deck piled, funnel-high, with bales
of raw silk, empty baskets, and market produce of every
description. We were the only English on board, as we had been
the only English in the streets, in the hotel, and appa
rently in all the town of Como. Our fellow-passengers
were of the bourgeois class — stout matrons with fat
brown hands cased in netted mittens and loaded with
rings ; elderly peres de famille in straw hats ; black-eyed
young women in gay shawls and fawn-coloured kid
boots ; and a sprinkling of priests. It had probably
been market-day in Como ; for the fore-deck was
crowded with chattering country folk, chiefly bronzed
women in wooden clogs, some few of whom wore in
their plaited hair that fan-shaped head-dress of silver
pins, which, though chiefly characteristic of the Canton
Tessin, just over the neighbouring Swiss border, is yet
worn all about the neighbourhood of the lakes.
So the boat steamed out of the little port and along the
glassy lake, landing many passengers at every stage ; and
the fat matrons drank iced Chiavenna beer ; and the
priests talked together in a little knot, and made merry
among themselves. There were three of them — one
rubicund, jovial, and somewhat threadbare ; another
very bent, and toothless, and humble, and desperately
shabby ; while the third, in shining broadcloth and a
black satin waistcoat, carried himself like a gentleman
and a man of the world, was liberal with the contents of

MONTE GENEROSO TO VENICE. 33
his silver snuff-box, and had only to open his lips to
evoke obsequious laughter. We landed the two first at
small water-side hamlets by the way, and the last went
ashore at Cadenabbia, in a smart boat with two rowers.
Wooded hills, vineyards, villages, terraced gardens,
gleaming villas bowered in orange groves, glided past
meanwhile — a swift and beautiful panorama. The little
voyage was soon over, and the sun was still high when
we reached Bellaggio ; a haven of delicious rest, if only
for a few hours.
Next morning, however, by a quarter past seven, we
were again on board and making, too slowly, for Lecco,
where we arrived just in time to hear the parting whistle
of the 9.25 train. Now, as there were only two departures
a day from this place and the next train would not start
for seven hours, arriving in Venice close upon eleven at
night, our case looked serious. We drove, however, to
an hotel, apparently the best ; and here the landlady, a
bright energetic body, proposed that we should take a
carriage across the country to Bergamo, and there catch
up the 1 1. 13 express from Milan. Here was the carriage
standing ready in the courtyard ; here were the horses
ready in the stables ; here was her nephew ready to
drive us — the lightest carriage, the best horses, the
steadiest whip in Lecco !
Never was there so brisk a little landlady. She al
lowed us no time for deliberation ; she helped to put the
horses in with her own hands ; and she packed us off as
eagerly as if the prosperity of her hotel depended on
getting rid of her customers as quickly as possible. So
away we went, counting the kilometres against time all

34 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
the way, and triumphantly rattling up to Bergamo sta
tion just twenty minutes before the express was due.
Then came that well-known route, so full of beauty,
so rich in old romance, that the mere names of the
stations along the line make Bradshaw read like a page
of poetry — Brescia, Verona, Vicenza, Padua, Venice.
For the traveller who has gone over all this ground at
his leisure and is familiar with each place of interest as
it flits by, I know no greater enjoyment than to pass
them thus in rapid review, taking the journey straight
through from Milan to Venice on a brilliant summer's
day. What a series of impressions ! What a chain of
memories ! What a long bright vision of ancient cities
with forked battlements ; white convents perched on
cypress-planted hills ; clustered villages, each with its
slender campanile ; rock-built citadels, and crumbling
mediaeval towns ; bright rivers, and olive woods, and
vineyards without end ; and beyond all these a back
ground of blue mountains ever varying in outline, ever
changing in hue, as the clouds sail over them and the
train flies on !
By five o'clock we were in Venice. I had not
thought, when I turned southwards last autumn, that
I should find myself threading its familiar water-ways
so soon again. I could hardly believe that here was
the Grand Canal, and yonder the Rialto, and that those
white domes now coming into sight were the domes of
Santa Maria della Salute. It all seemed like a dream.
And yet, somehow, it was less like a dream than a
changed reality. It was Venice ; but not quite the old
Venice. It was a gayer, fuller, noisier Venice ; a

MONTE GENEROSO TO VENICE. 35
Venice empty of English and American tourists ; full
to overflowing of Italians in every variety of summer
finery ; crowded with artists of all nations sketching in
boats, or surrounded by gaping crowds in shady
corners and porticos ; a Venice whose flashing waters
were now cloven by thousands of light skiffs with smart
striped awnings of many colours, but whence the
hearse-like, tufted gondola, so full of mystery and
poetry, had altogether vanished ; a Venice whose every
side-canal swarmed with little boys learning to dive,
and with swimmers of all ages ; where dozens of cheap
steamers (compared with which the Hungerford penny
boats would seem like floating palaces) were hurrying
to and fro every quarter of an hour between the Riva
dei Schiavone and the bathing-places on the Lido ; a
Venice in which every other house in every piazza had
suddenly become a cafe ; in which brass bands were
playing, and caramels were being hawked, and iced
drinks were continually being consumed from seven in
the morning till any number of hours after midnight ;
a Venice, in short, which was sunning itself in the brief
gaiety and prosperity of the bathing season, when all
Italy north of the Tiber, and a large percentage of
strangers from Vienna, St. Petersburg, and the shores
of the Baltic, throng thither to breathe the soft sea-
breezes off the Adriatic.
We stayed three days at Danieli's, including Sunday;
and, mindful that we were this time bound for a district
where roads were few, villages far between, and inns
scantily provided with the commonest necessaries, we
took care to lay in good store of portable provision for

36 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &° UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
the journey. Our Saturday and Monday were therefore
spent chiefly in the mazes of the Merceria. Here we
bought two convenient wicker-baskets, and wherewithal
to stock them — tea, sugar, Reading biscuits in tins,
chocolate in tablets, Liebig's Ramornie extract, two
bottles of Cognac, four of Marsala, pepper, salt, arrow
root, a large metal flask of spirits of wine, and an Etna.
Thus armed, we could at all events rely in case of need
upon our own resources ; and of milk, eggs, and bread
we thought we might make certain everywhere. Time
proved, however, that in the indulgence of even this
modest hope we over-estimated the fatness of the land ;
for it repeatedly happened that (the cows being gone to
the upper pastures) we could get no milk ; and on one
memorable occasion, in a hamlet containing at least
three or four hundred souls, we could get no bread.
There was yet another point upon which we were
severely "exercised," and that was the question of side
saddles. Mr. R., on Monte Generoso, had advised us to
purchase them and take them with us, doubting whether
we should find any between Cortina and Botzen.
Another friend, however, had positively assured us of
the existence of one at Caprile ; and where there was
one, we hoped there might be two more. Anyhow, we
were unwilling to add the bulk and burden of three side
saddles to our luggage ; so we decided to go on, and
take our chance. I suspect, however, that we had no
alternative, and that one might as well look for skates
in Calcutta as for saddlery in Venice. As the event
proved, we did ultimately succeed in capturing two side
saddles (the only two in the whole district), and in

MONTE GENEROSO TO VENICE. 37
forcibly keeping them throughout the journey ; but this
was a triumph of audacity, never to be repeated.
Another time, we should undoubtedly provide ourselves
with side-saddles either at Padua or Vicenza on the
one side, or at Botzen on the other.
By Monday evening the 1st of July, our preparations
were completed ; our provision baskets packed ; our
stores of sketching and writing materials duly laid in ;
and all was at length in readiness for an early start
next morning.

VENICE TO LONGARONE.

TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN— VENICE TO CONEGLIANO— FAREWELL TO
RAILWAYS AND CIVILISATION— WE TAKE TO THE ROAD— CENEDA—
SERRAVALLE AND ITS GREAT TITIAN — THE GORGE AND LAKE OF
SERRAVALLE — THE BOSCO DEL CONSIGLIO— THE LAGO MORTO — SANTA
CROCE — FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE DOLOMITES— A PLAGUE OF FLIES —
SKETCHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES— CAPO DI PONTE— THE ANCIENT
BASIN OF THE PIAVE — VALLEY OF THE PIAVE — LONGARONE — AN INN
FOR A GHOST STORY.

CHAPTER II.
VENICE TO LONGARONE.
Having risen at grey dawn, breakfasted at a little
after 5 a.m., and pulled down to the station before half
the world of Venice was awake, it was certainly trying
to find that we had missed our train by about five
minutes, and must wait four hours for the next. Nor
was it much consolation, though perhaps some little
relief, to upbraid the courier who had slept too late, and
so caused our misfortune. Sulky and silent, he piled
our bags in a corner and kept gloomily aloof; while
we, cold, dreary, and discontented, sat shivering in a
draughty passage close against the ticket office, count
ing the weary hours and excluded even from the wait
ing-rooms, which were locked up " per ordine supe-
riore " till half an hour before the time at which we
now could proceed upon our journey. The time, how
ever, dragged by somehow, and when at ten o'clock we
at last found ourselves moving slowly out of the station,
it seemed already like the middle of the day.
And now again we traversed the great bridge and the
long, still, glassy space of calm lagune, and left the
lessening domes of Venice far behind. And now, Mestre

42 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
station being passed and the firm earth reached again,
we entered on a vast flat all green with blossoming
Indian corn, and intersected by a network of broad dykes
populous with frogs. Heavens ! how they croaked !
Driving out from Ravenna to Dante's famous pine-forest
the other day, we had been almost deafened by them ;
but the shrill chorus of those Ravenna frogs was as
soft music compared with the unbridled revelry of their
Venetian brethren. These drowned the very noise of
the train, and reduced us to dumb show till we were out
of their neighbourhood.
So we sped on, the grey-blue mountains that we had
been looking at so longingly from Venice these last
three days growing gradually nearer and more definite.
Soon we begin to distinguish a foreground of lower hill
tops, some dark with woods, others cultivated from base
to brow and dotted over with white villages. Then by-
and-by comes a point, midway as it were between
Venetia and Tyrol, whence we see the last tapering
Venetian campanile outlined against the horizon on
the one hand, and the first bulbous Tyrolean steeple,
shaped like the morion of a mediaeval man-at-arms,
peeping above the roof of a little hill-side hamlet on the
other. The dykes and frogs are now left far behind ; the line
is bordered on both sides by feathery acacia hedges ; and
above the lower ranges of frontier mountains, certain
strange jagged peaks, which, however, are not Dolomite,
begin to disengage themselves from the cloudy back
ground of the northern sky. No, they cannot be Dolo
mite, though they look so like it ; for we have been told

VENICE TO LONGARONE. 43
that we shall see no true Dolomite before to-morrow.
It is possible, however, as we know, to see the Antelao
from Venice on such a clear day as befalls about a
dozen times in the course of a summer ; but here, even
if the sky were cloudless, we are too close under the
lower spurs of the outlying hills to command a view of
greater heights beyond.
Treviso comes next — apparently a considerable place.
Here, according to Murray, is a fine Annunciation of
Titian to be seen in the Duomo, but we, alas ! have no
time to stay for it. Here also, as our fellow-traveller,
the priest in the corner, says unctuously, opening his
lips for the first and last time during the journey," they
make good wine." (" Qui si fa buon vino.")
At Treviso we drop a few third-class travellers, and
(being now just eighteen miles from Venice, and exactly
half-way to Conegliano) go on again through a fat, flat
country, past endless fields of maize and flax ; past
trailing vines reared, as in the Tyrol, on low slanting
trellises close against the ground ; past rich midsummer
meadows where sunburnt peasants wade knee-deep in
wild-flowers, and their flocks of turkeys are guessed at
rather than seen ; past villages, and small stations, and
rambling farmhouses, and on towards the hills that are
our goal. By-and-by, some four or five miles before
Conegliano, the fertile plain is scarred by a broad tract
of stones and sand, in the midst of which the Piave,
grey, shallow, and turbid, hurries towards the sea. Of
this river we are destined to see and know more here
after, among its native Dolomites.
And now we are at Conegliano, the last point to
C 2

44 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &= UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

which the railway can take us,* and which, in conse
quence of our four hours' delay this morning, we have
now no time to see. And this is disappointing; for
Conegliano must undoubtedly be worth a visit. We
know of old Palazzos decorated with fast-fading frescoes
by Pordenone ; of a theatre built by Segusini ; of an
altar-piece in the Duomo by Cima of Conegliano, an
exquisite early painter of this place, whose works are
best represented in the Brera of Milan, and whose
clear, dry, polished style holds somewhat of an inter
mediate place between that of Giovanni Bellini and
Luca Signorelli.
But if we would reach Longarone — our first stopping
place — to-night, we must go on ; so all we carry away
is the passing remembrance of a neat little station ; a
bright, modern-looking town about half a mile distant ;
a sprinkling of white villas dotted over the neighbouring
hill-sides ; and a fine old castle glowering down from a
warlike height beyond.
And now the guard's whistle shrills in our ears for the
last time for many weeks, and the train, bound for
Trieste, puffs out of the station, disappears round a
curve, and leaves us on the platform with our pile of
bags at our feet and all our adventures before us. We
look in each other's faces. We feel for the moment as

* There is now a branch line from Conegliano to Vittorio (see p. 47),
which considerably shortens the j'ourney by road for those who desire to go
by way of the Lago di S. Croce. There is, however, a yet quicker route
from Venice by the new line from Treviso to Belluno, which makes it
possible for the traveller to reach Cortina in one long day. From Belluno,
a diligence runs twice a day to Longarone, whence a carriage can be taken
to Cortina. (Note to Second Edition.)

VENICE TO LONGARONE. 45
Martin Chuzzlewit may have felt when the steamer
landed him at Eden, and there left him. Nothing, in
truth, can be more indefinite than our prospects, more
vague than our plans. We have Mayr's maps, Ball's
Guide to the Eastern Alps, Gilbert and Churchill's
book, and all sorts of means and appliances ; but we
have not the slightest idea of where we are going, or of
what we shall do when we get there.
There is, however, no time now for misgivings, and
in a few minutes we are again under way. Some three
or four dirty post-omnibuses and bilious-looking yellow
diligences are waiting outside, bound for Belluno and
Longarone ; also one tolerable carriage with a pair of
stout grey horses, which, after some bargaining, is
engaged at the cost of a hundred lire.* For this sum
the driver is to take us to-day to Longarone, and to
morrow to Cortina in the Ampezzo Valley — a distance,
altogether, of something like seventy English miles.
So the bags are stowed away, some inside, some out
side ; and presently, without entering the town at all,
we drive through a dusty suburb and out again upon
the open plain.
A straighter road across a flatter country it would be
difficult to conceive. Bordered on each side by a row
of thin poplars, and by interminable fields of Indian
corn, it goes on for miles and miles, diminishing to a
point in the far distance, like the well-known diagram
of an avenue in perspective. And it is the peculiar
attribute of this point to recede steadily in advance of
'us, so that we are always going on, as in a dreadful
* About four pounds English.

46 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
dream, and never getting any nearer. As for incidents
by the way, there are none. We pass one of the
lumbering yellow diligences that were standing erewhile
at Conegliano station ; we see a few brown women
hoeing in the Indian corn ; and then for miles we
neither pass a house nor meet a human being.
It appears to me that hours must have gone by thus
when I suddenly wake up, baked by the sun and choked
by the dust, to find the whole party asleep, driver
included, and the long distant hills now rising close
before us. Seeing a little town not a quarter of a mile
ahead — a little town bright in sunshine against a back
ground of dark woods, with a ruined castle on a height
near by, I know at once that this must be Ceneda — the
Ceneda that Titian loved — and that yonder woods and
hills and ruined castle are the same he took for the
landscape background to his St. Peter Martyr. Here
he is said to have owned property in land ; and at
Manza, four miles off, he built himself a summer villa.
Now, moved by some mysterious instinct, the driver
wakes up just in time to crack his whip, put his
horses into a gallop, and clatter, as foreign vetturini
love to clatter, through the one street which is the
town. But in vain ; for Ceneda — silent, solitary,
basking in the sun, with every shutter closed and
only a lean dog or two loitering aimlessly about the
open space in front of the church — is apparently as
sound asleep as an enchanted town in a fairy tale.
Not a curtain is put aside, not a face peers out upon
us as we rattle past. The very magpie in his wicker
cage outside the barber's shop is dozing on his perch,

VENICE TO LONGARONE. 47
and scarcely opens an eye, though we make noise
enough to rouse the Seven Sleepers.
Once past the houses, we fall back, of course, into
the old pace, the gracious hills drawing nearer and
unfolding fresh details at every step. And now, at
last, green slopes and purple crags close round our
path ; the road begins to rise ; a steep and narrow
gorge, apparently a mere cleft in the mountains like
the gorge of Pfeffers, opens suddenly before us ; and
from the midst of a nest of vines, mulberry trees
and chestnuts, the brown roofs and campaniles of
Serravalle lift themselves into sight.
Serravalle, though it figures on the map in smaller
type than Ceneda, which is, or was, an Episcopal
residence, is yet a much more considerable place,
covering several acres, and straggling up into the
mouth of the gorge through which the Meschio comes
hurrying to the plain. Strictly speaking, perhaps,
there is now no Ceneda and no Serravalle, the two
townships having been united of late by the Italian
Government under the name of Vittorio ; but they
lie a full mile apart, and no one seems as yet to
take kindly to the new order of things.
Again our driver cracks his whip and urges his
horses to a canter ; and so, with due magnificence,
we clatter into the town — a quaint, picturesque,
crumbling, world-forgotten place, with old stone
houses abutting on the torrent ; and a Duomo that
looks as if it had been left unfinished three hundred
years ago ; and gloomy arcades vaulting the foot
ways on each side of the principal street, as in

48 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &¦» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Strasburg and Berne. Dashing across the bridge
and into the Piazza, we pull up before one of the
two inns which there compete for possession of the
infrequent traveller ; for Serravalle boasts not only a
Piazza and a Duomo, but two alberghi, two shabby
little cafes, a Regia Posta, and even a lottery office
with " Qui si giuoca per Venezia " painted in red
letters across the window.
Here, too, the inhabitants are awake and stirring.
They play at dominos in their shirt-sleeves outside
the cafes. They play at "morra" in the shade of
doorways and arcades. They fill water-jars, wash
lettuces, and gossip at the fountain. They even
patronise the drama, as may be seen by the erection
of a temporary puppet-theatre (" patronised by His
Majesty the King of Italy and all the Sovereigns
of Europe ") on a slope of waste ground close
against the church. Nor is wanting the usual
score or two of idle men and boys who immediately
start up from nowhere in particular, and swarm,
open-mouthed, about the carriage, staring at its
occupants as if they were members of a travelling
menagerie. But Serravalle has something better than puppets
and an idle population to show. The Duomo contains
a large painting of the Madonna and Child in glory, by
Titian, executed to order some time between the years
1542 and 1547 — a grand picture belonging to what may
perhaps be called the second order of the master's
greatest period, and of which it has lately been said by
an eminent traveller and critic that ' ' it would alone

VENICE TO LONGARONE. 49
repay a visit to Serravalle, even from Venice." With
respect to the treatment of this fine work, Mr. Gilbert,
whose admirable book on Titian and Cadore leaves
nothing for any subsequent writer to add on these
subjects, says : — " It is one of the grandest specimens
of the master, and in very fair preservation. It repre
sents the Virgin and Child in glory surrounded by
angels, who fade into the golden haze above. Heavy-
volumed clouds support and separate from earth this
celestial vision ; and below, standing on each side, are
the colossal and majestic figures of St. Andrew and St.
Peter ; the former supporting a massive cross, the latter
holding aloft, as if challenging denial of his faithfulness,
the awful keys. Between these two noble figures,
under a low horizon line, is a dark lake amidst darker
hills, where a distant sail recalls the fisherman and his
craft. Composition, drawing, colour, are all dignified
and worthy of the master." Cadore, p. 43.
And now, time pressing, the day advancing, and
three-fourths of the drive yet lying before us, we must
push on, or Longarone will not be reached ere night
fall. So, having been sufficiently stared at — not only
by the population generally, but by the landlord and
landlady and everybody connected with the inn, as well
as by the domino players, who leave their games to
take part in the entertainment — we clatter off again
and make straight for the rocky mouth of the gorge,
now closing in upon, and apparently swallowing up,
the long line of old stone houses creeping into the
defile. Some of these, shattered and decaying as they
are, show traces of Venetian-Gothic in pointed ogive

So UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
window and delicate twisted column. They belonged,
no doubt, to wealthy owners in the days when Titian
used to ride over from Manza to visit his married
daughter who lived at Serravalle.
Where the houses end, the precipices so close in that
there is but just space for the road and the torrent.
Then the gorge gradually widens through wooded
slopes and hanging chestnut groves ; farmhouses and
chalets perched high on grassy plateaux begin to look
more Swiss than Italian ; mountains and forests all
round shut in the view ; and about two miles from
Serravalle, the Meschio expands into a tiny, green,
transparent lake, tranquil as a cloudless evening sky,
and fringed by a broad border of young flax. A single
skiff, reflected upside down as in a mirror, floats idly in
the middle of the lake. The fisherman in it seems to
be asleep. Not a ripple, not a breath, disturbs the
placid picture in the water. Every hill and tree is
there, reversed ; and every reed is doubled.
This delicious pool, generally omitted in the maps, is
the Lago di Serravalle. Woods slope down to the
brink on one side, and the road, skirting the debris of
an old landslip, winds round the other. Two tiny
white houses with green jalousies and open Italian
balconies at the head of the lake, a toy church on a
grassy knoll, and a square mediaeval watchtower
clinging to a ridge of rock above, make up the details
of a picture so serene and perfect -that even Turner at
his sunniest period could scarcely have idealized it.
The gorge now goes on widening and becomes a
valley, once the scene of a bergfall so gigantic that it is

VENICE TO LONGARONE. 51
supposed to have turned the course of the Piave
(flowing out till then by Serravalle) and to have sent it
thenceforward and for ever through the Val di Mel.
This catastrophe happened ages ago — most probably in
pre-historic times ; yet the great barrier, six hundred
feet in height from this side, looks as if it might be less
than a century old. Few shrubs have taken root in
these vast hillocks of slaty debris, among and over
which the road rises continually. Few mosses have
gathered in the crannies of these monster blocks, which
lie piled like fallen towers by the wayside. All is bare,
ghastly, desolate.
As we mount higher, the outlying trees of a great
beech-forest on the verge of a lofty plateau to the right,
are pointed out by the driver as the famous Bosco del
Consiglio — a name that dates back to old Venetian
rule, when these woods furnished timber to the state.
Hence came the wood of which the " Bucentaur " was
built ; and — who knows ? — perhaps the merchant ships
of Antonio, and the war-galley in which " blind old
Dandolo " put forth against the Turk.
Presently, being now about four miles from
Serravalle, and the top of the great bergfall not yet
reached, we come upon another little green, clear lake,
about the size of the last — the Lago Morto. It lies
down in a hollow below the road, close under a huge,
sheer precipice blinding white in the sunshine, whence
half the mountain side looks as if it had been sliced
away at a blow. If it were not that the debris could
hardly be piled up where and how it is, leaving that
hollow in which the lake lies sleeping, one would

52 UNTRODDEN PEAKS S- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
suppose this to be the spot whence the rock-slip came
that time it barred out the Piave from the gorge of
Serravalle. According to the local legend, no boat can live upon
those tranquil waters, and no bather who plunges into
them may ever swim back to shore. Both are, in some
terrible way, drawn down and engulphed " deeper than
did ever plummet sound." It is said, however, that
the last Austrian Governor of Lombardo-Venetia, being
anxious to put an end to this superstition, brought up a
boat from the Santa Croce side, and, in the presence of
a breathless crowd from all the neighbouring villages,
himself rowed the pretty wife of the Fadalto postmaster
across the lake, and landed her triumphantly upon the
opposite shore. Your Tyrolean peasant, however, is
not easily disabused of ancient errors, and the Lago
Morto, I am told, notwithstanding that public rehabi
litation; enjoys its evil reputation to this day.
At length, having the Bosco del Consiglio always to
the right, and the Col Vicentino with its scattered snow
drifts towering to the left, we gain the summit of the
ridge and see the lake of Santa Croce, looking won
derfully like the lake of Albano, lying close beneath our
feet. Great mountains, all grey and purple crags
above, all green corn-fields and wooded slopes below,
enclose it in a nest of verdure. The village and church
of Santa Croce, perched on a little grassy bluff, almost
overhang the water. Other villages and campaniles
sparkle far off on shore and hillside ; while yonder,
through a gap in the mountains at the farther end
of the lake, we are startled by a strange apparition of

VENICE TO LONGARONE.

53

pale fantastic peaks lifted high against the northern
horizon. " Ecco ! " says the driver, pointing towards them
with his whip, and half turning round to watch the
effect of his words, " Ecco i nostri Dolomiti ! "

JSida

iSSS

P**M

WBSKKfm

LAKE OF SANTA CROCE.

The announcement is so unexpected, that for the first
moment it almost takes one's breath away. Having
been positively told that no Dolomites would come into
sight before the second day's journey, we have neither
been looking for them nor expecting them — and yet
there they are, so unfamiliar, and yet so unmistakeable !
One feels immediately that they are unlike all other
mountains, and yet that they are exactly what one
expected them to be.

54 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 5- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
" Che Dolomiti sono ? Come si chiamano ? " (What
Dolomites are they ? What are their names ?) are the
eager questions that follow.
But the bare geological fact is all our driver has to
tell. They are Dolomites — Dolomites on the Italian
side of the frontier. He knows no more ; so we can
only turn to our maps, and guess, by comparison of dis
tances and positions, that those clustered aiguilles
belong most probably to the range of Monte Sfornioi.
At Santa Croce we halt for half an hour before the
door of an extremely dirty little albergo, across the
front of which is painted in conspicuous letters, " Qui
si vende buon vino a chi vuole."
Leaving the driver and courier to test the truth of
this legend, we order coffee and drink it in the open air.
The horses are taken out and fed. The writer, grie
vously tormented by a plague of flies, makes a sketch
under circumstances of untold difficulty, being presently
surrounded by the whole population of the place,
among whom are some three or four handsome young
women with gay red and yellow handkerchiefs bound
round their heads like turbans. These damsels are by
no means shy. They crowd ; they push ; they chatter ;
they giggle. One invites me to take her portrait.
Another wishes to know if I am married. A third
discovers that I am like a certain Maria Rosa whom
they all seem to know ; whereupon every feature of my
face is discussed separately, and for the most part to my
disparagement. At this trying juncture, L., in a moment of happy
inspiration, offers to show them the chromo-lithographs

VENICE TO LONGARONE. 55
in Gilbert and Churchill's book, and so creates a
diversion in my favour. Meanwhile the flies settle
upon me in clouds, walk over my sky, drown them
selves in the water bottles, and leave their legs in
the brown madder ; despite all which impediments,
however, I achieve my sketch, and by the time the
horses are put to, am ready to go on again.
The road now skirts the lake of Santa Croce, at the
head of which extends an emerald-green flat wooded
with light, feathery, yellowish poplars — evidently at one
time part of the bed of the lake, from which the waters
have long since retreated. From this point, we follow
the line of the valley, passing the smart new village of
Cadola ; and at Capo di Ponte, whence the valley of
Serravalle and the Val di Mel diverge at right angles,
come again upon the Piave, now winding in and out
among stony hillocks, like the Rhone at Leuk, and
milk-white from its glacier-source in the upper Dolo
mites. The old bridge at Capo di Ponte — the old
bridge which dated from Venetian times — is now gone ;
and with it the buttresses adorned with the lion of St.
Mark mentioned by Ball and alluded to in Mr. Gilbert's
" Cadore." Fragments of the ancient piers may yet be
traced ; but a new and very slight-looking iron bridge
now spans the stream some fifty yards higher up. At
Capo di Ponte, the most unscientific observer cannot
fail to see that the Piave must once upon a time (most
probably when the great bergfall drove its waters back
from Serravalle) have here formed another lake, the
great natural basin of which yet remains, with the river
flowing through it in a low secondary channel.

56 UNTRODDEN PEAKS & UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
And now the road enters another straight and
narrow valley — the valley of the Piave — closed in
far ahead by a rugged Dolomite, all teeth and
needle-points. By this time the long day is drawing
to a close. Cows after milking are being driven
back to pasture ; labourers are plodding homewards ;
and a party of country girls with red handkerchiefs
upon their heads, wading knee-deep through the
wild-flowers of a wayside meadow, look like ' a
procession of animated poppies. Then the sun
goes down ; the sky and the mountains turn cold
and grey ; and just before the dusk sets in, we arrive
at Longarone.
A large rambling village with a showy renaissance
church and a few shabby shops — a big desolate inn
with stone staircases and stone floors — a sullen
landlord — a frightened, bare-footed chambermaid who
looks as if she had just been caught wild in the
mountains — bedrooms like barns, floors without
carpets, windows without curtains — such are our
first comfortless impressions of Longarone. Nor are
these impressions in any wise modified by more
intimate acquaintance. We dine in a desert of
sitting-room at an oasis of table, lighted by a single
tallow candle. The food is indifferent and in
differently cooked. The wine is the worst we have
had in Italy.
Meanwhile, a stern and ominous look of satisfaction
settles on the countenance of the great man whom
we have so ruthlessly torn from the sphere which he
habitually adorns. " I told you so " is written in

VENICE TO LONGARONE. 57
every line of his face, and in the very bristle of his
moustache. At last, being dismissed for the night
and told at what hour to have the carriage round in
the morning, he can keep silence no longer.
"We shall not meet with many inns so good as
this, where we are going," he says, grimly triumphant.
" Good night, ladies ! " — and with this parting shot,
retires. My bedroom that night measures about thirty-five
feet in length by twenty-five in breadth, and is
enlivened by five windows and four doors. The
windows look out variously upon street, courtyard,
and stables. The doors lead to endless suites of
empty, shut-up rooms, and all sorts of intricate
passages. 'Tis as ghostly, echoing, suicidal a place
to sleep in as ever I saw in my life !

LONGARONE TO CORTINA.

THE PIC GALLINA — A COMMUNICATIVE PRIEST — THE TIMBER TRADE —
THE SMALLEST CHURCH IN ITALY— CASTEL LAVAZZO— PERAROLO — A
VISION OF THE ANTELAO— THE ZIGZAG OF MONTE ZUCCO — TAI CADORE
— ONE OF THE FINEST DRIVES IN EUROPE — THE GLORIES OF THE
AMPEZZO THAL— THE PELMO— THE ROCHETTA — THE LANDSLIP OF
1816— THE ANTELAO — THE CRODA MALCORA— SORAPIS— WE CROSS
THE AUSTRIAN FRONTIER — THE EEC DI MEZZODI — THE TOFANA —
MONTE CRISTALLO— CORTINA— ARRIVAL AT GHEDINA'S INN— " IL
TUCKETT'S " NAME PROVES A WORD OF MIGHT — A THOROUGH TYRO
LEAN HOSTELRY — PREPARATIONS FOR THE SAGRO.

CHAPTER III.
LONGARONE TO CORTINA.
Longarone, seen at six o'clock on a grey, dull morn
ing, looked no more attractive than at dusk the evening
before. There had been thunder and heavy rain in the
night, and now the road and footways were full of
muddy pools. The writer, however, was up betimes,
wandering alone through the wet streets ; peeping into
the tawdry churches ; spelling over the framed and
glazed announcements of births, deaths, and marriages
at the Prefettura ; sketching the Pic Gallina, a solitary
conspicuous peak over against the mouth of the Val
Vajont, on the opposite bank of the Piave ; and seeking
such scattered crumbs of information as might fall in
her way.
To sketch, even so early as six a.m., without becom
ing the nucleus of a crowd, is, of course, impossible ;
and the crowd this time consisted of school children of
all ages, quite as " untameable," and almost as numer
ous, as the flies of Santa Croce. Presently, however,
came by a mild, plump priest in a rusty soutane, who
chased the truants off to the parish school-house, and
himself lingered for a little secular chat by the way.

62 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
He had not much to tell ; yet he told the little that
he knew pleasantly and readily. The parish, he said,
numbered about three thousand souls — a pious, indus
trious folk mainly supported by the timber trade, which

PIC GALLINA.

is the staple of these parts. This timber, being cut,
sold, and branded in the Ampezzo Thai, is floated
down the Boita to its point of confluence with the
Piave at Perarolo, and thence, carried by the double
current, comes along the valley of the Piave and the

LONGARONE TO CORTINA. 63
Val di Mel, to be claimed by its several purchasers
along the banks, and caught as it passes by. Thus it
is that every village by the way is skirted by saw-mills
and timber-yards, and that almost every man is a car
penter. He then went on to tell me that my peak was
called the Pic Gallina, or Hen's beak ; that there
existed a practicable short cut for pedestrians by way
of the Val Vajont to Udine and the Trieste railway;
that the " gran' Tiziano " was born on the banks of the
Piave higher up, at Pieve di Cadore ; that the Dolo
mites were the highest mountains in the world (which I
am afraid I pretended to believe) ; that the large church
in the Piazza was the church of the Concezione ; that
the little church at the back, dedicated to San Liberale,
was the smallest church in Italy (which no doubt was
true, seeing that you might put it inside St. Lawrence,
Undercliff, and yet leave a passage to walk round) ; and
finally, that Castel Lavazzo, seen from a point about a
quarter of a mile farther on, was the most picturesque
view in the valley, and the best worth sketching.
Having delivered himself of which information, apo
cryphal and otherwise, he lifted his shovel-hat with
quite the air of a man of the world, and bade me good
morning. Of course I went at once in search of the view of
Castel Lavazzo, and finding it really characteristic of
the Val di Piave, succeeded in sketching it before it was
time to return to breakfast.
By nine, we were on the road again, following the
narrow gorge which was soon to lead us into the real
world of Dolomite. The morning was now alternately

64 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
bright and showery, and the dark, jagged peaks that
closed in the distance were of just that rich, deep, in
credible ultra-marine blue that Titian loved and painted
so often in his landscape backgrounds.

Em ; i Ww^^f

CASTEL LAVAZZO.

At Termine, a little timber-working hamlet noisy with
saw-mills, about a mile beyond Castel Lavazzo, the
defile narrows so suddenly that one gigantic grey and
golden crag seems to block the end of the village street.
The women here are handsome, and wear folded cloths
upon their heads as in the hills near Rome ; and the
men wear wooden clogs, as at Lugano. A slender

LONGARONE TO CORTINA. 65
waterfall wavers down the face of a cliff on the opposite
side of the river. Primitive breakwaters, like huge
baskets of rude wicker-work filled with stones, here stem
the force of the torrent brawling through its narrow
bed ; and some of these have held their place so long
that young trees have had time to take root and flourish
in them. Next comes Ospitale, another little brown-
roofed hamlet perched on a green rise like Castel
Lavazzo, with the usual cluster of saw-mills and saw-
pits down by the water's edge ; and now, entering the
commune of Perarolo in a smart shower, we rattle
through a succession of tiny villages built in the Swiss
way, with wooden balconies, outer staircases, and deep
projecting eaves. In most of these places, it being now
between ten and eleven o'clock a.m., the good people
are sitting in their doorways dining primitively out of
wooden bowls.
So we go on ; and so the Piave, greenish grey in
colour, interrupted by a thousand rapids, noisy, eager,
headlong, comes ever rushing towards us, and past us,
and away to the sea. So, too, the brown and golden
pine-trunks come whirling down with the stream. It is
curious to watch them in their course. Some come
singly, some in crowds. Some blunder along sideways
in a stupid, buffeted, bewildered way. Some plunge
madly up and down. Some run races. Some get tired,
rest awhile under shelter of the bank, and then, with a
rouse and a shake, dash back again into the throng.
Others creep into little stony shallows, and there go to
sleep for days and weeks together ; while others, again,
push straight ahead, nose first, as if they knew what

66 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &-¦ UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
they were about, and were bent on getting to their
journey's end as quickly as possible.
Nearing Perarolo, glimpses of the peaks, aiguilles
and snow-fields of Monte Cridola (8,474 feet), the highest
point of the Premaggiore range, are now and then seen
to the right, through openings in the lower mountains.
Monte Zucco abruptly blocks the end of the gorge.
Country carts upon the road, women working in the
fields, a party of children scrambling and shouting
among the bushes by the wayside, now indicate that we
are not far from a more thickly inhabited place than
any of the preceding villages. Then the road takes a
sudden turn, and Perarolo, with its handsome new
church, new stone bridge, public fountain, extensive
wood-yards, and general air of solid prosperity, comes
into view.
Yet a few yards farther, and a second bridge is
crossed — a new valley rich in wood and water opens
away to the left — and a wonderful majestic vision,
draped in vapours and hooded in clouds, stands sud
denly before us !
The coachman, preparing his accustomed coup de
theatre, is not allowed to speak. We know at once in
what Presence we are. We know at once that yonder
vague and shadowy mass which soars beyond our
sight and seems to gather up the slopes of the
valley as a robe, can be none other than the
Antelao. A grand, but a momentary sight ! The coachman,
with a jealous glance at the open maps and guide
books that have forestalled his information, whips on

LONGARONE TO CORTINA. 67
his horses, and in another moment valley and mountain
are lost in the turn of the road, and we are fast climbing
the hill leading to the great zigzag of Monte Zucco.
Still we have seen, however imperfectly, the loftiest of
all the giants of Cadore ; we have seen the mouth of
the famous Ampezzo Thai, and we begin to feel that
it is not all a dream, but that we are among the
Dolomites at last.
And now, for a weary while, partly on foot and partly
in the carriage, we toil on and on, up the new road
constructed of late years by the Emperor Ferdinand.
The Piave, here quite choked by a huge, stationary
mass of pine-trunks, winds unheard some hundreds of
feet below. Perarolo, the great centre of all this timber
trade, dwindles to a toy hamlet in the valley. New
peaks rise on the horizon. New valleys glitter in the
distance. Still the road climbs — winds among vast
slopes of pine-forest — makes the entire circuit of Monte
Zucco, and finally, with one long, last pull, reaches
the level of the upper plateau.
Here, at Tai Cadore, a tiny village backed by culti
vated slopes, we are to take our midday rest. Here,
too, we catch our first glimpse of Titian's birthplace,
Pieve di Cadore, a small white hamlet nestled in a
fold of the hills close under a ruined castle on a wooded
knoll, about a mile away. Now Pieve di Cadore was
down in our route as a special excursion to be taken
hereafter from Cortina in the Ampezzo valley ; but
our impatience was great, and the sun was shining
brilliantly, and our first thought was to employ these
two hours' rest in walking there and back, and just

68 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
seeing (though it were only the outside of it) the house
in which the great painter was born.
It was first necessary, however, to take luncheon at
Tai ; which we did, seated at a bare deal table in an
upper room of the clean little inn, beside a window
commanding a magnificent view of the Premaggiore
range. Meanwhile the capricious sky clouded over
again ; and by the time we should have been ready to
start, the rain was coming down so heavily that Pieve
di Cadore was unavoidably left to be seen later on.
A little way beyond Tai Cadore begins one of the
finest drives in Europe. The road enters the Ampezzo
Thai at an elevation which can scarcely be less than
1,250 feet above the foaming Boita ; and a close, lofty,
richly wooded valley, like a sublimer Val d'Anzasca,
opens the way to more rugged scenery beyond. Vast
precipices tower above ; scattered villages cling to the
green slopes half way down ; and brilliant passages of
light and shadow move rapidly over all. Now one
peak is lighted up, and now another. Here a brown
roof, wet from the last shower, glistens like silver in
the sunshine ; there a grassy slope fringed with noble
chestnuts glows in a green and golden light ; while
on yonder opposite height, a dark fir-forest shows blue
and purple in angry storm shadow.
At Venas, the overhanging eaves, outer staircases,
and balustraded balconies, are wholly Swiss ; while
inscriptions such as " Qui si vende Vino d'Asti, Colo-
niale, ed altri generi," remind us that, although close
upon the Austrian frontier, we are not yet out of Italy.
And now the valley widens. The Antelao, still

LONGARONE TO CORTINA. 69
obscured by floating mists, again comes into sight — a
near mass of clustered pinnacles ; then the Pelmo on
the opposite side of the valley, uplifted in the likeness
of a mighty throne canopied by clouds, and approached
by a giant staircase, each step of which is a precipice
laden with eternal snow and trodden only by the
chamois hunter ; next, on the same side as the Pelmo
but farther up the valley, appears the Rochetta — -a
chain of wild confused crags, like a line of broken
battlements, piled high on huge buttresses of sward
and pine-forest.
Between the small wayside hamlets of Vodo and
Borca, the road is cut through an enormous slope of
stony debris, the scene of a bergfall which fell from
the Antelao in 1816, and overwhelmed two villages on
the opposite bank of the Boita. More sudden, and
almost more cruel than the lava from Vesuvius, it
came down, as almost every bergfall comes down, at
dead of night, crushing the sleepers in their beds and
leaving not a moment for escape.
Two great mounds of shattered limestone, each at
least 100 feet in height, mark the site of the lost
villages ; and, strange to tell, the torrent, instead of
being dammed and driven back as at Serravalle, flows
on its way unimpeded save by a few Titanic boulders.
How so tremendous a fall could have crossed the
stream in sufficient volume to bury every house, church
and campanile on the other side, and yet have failed
to fill up the bed of the intervening torrent, is infinitely
mysterious. I inquired then and later whether the
stream might not have been temporarily choked, and

70 UNTRODDEN PEAKS dr» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
afterwards cleared by the labour of the other Ampezzan
communities ; but though all whom I asked seemed to
think such a task impossible of fulfilment at any time, .
none could answer me.
" It happened, Signora, fifty-six years ago," was the
invariable answer. " Chi lo sa ? "
Was that so long a time ? It seemed strange that,
after the lapse of little more than half a century, every
detail of so terrible a catastrophe should be forgotten in
a place where events were necessarily few.
And now, following the great sweep of the road, we
make at least one-third of the circuit of the Antelao,
which becomes momentarily grander, and changes its
aspect and outline with every turn. The snow on this
side finds no resting place, save on a scant ledge here
and there ; and the mountain consists apparently of
innumerable jagged buttresses, huge slopes of shaley
debris, and an infinitely varied chain of pallid peaks and
pinnacles. Some of these are almost white ; some of
a pale sulphurous yellow streaked with violet ; some
splashed with a vivid, rusty red, indicating the presence
of iron. One keen, splintered aiguille, sharp as a lance
and curved as a shark's tooth, looked like a scimitar
freshly dipped in blood.
Now, at San Vito, the Antelao begins to be left be
hind, and the long ridge of the Croda Malcora, with its
highest peak, Sorapis, standing boldly out against a
background of storm-cloud, enters on the scene. A
little farther yet, and the Austrian frontier is reached.""
* Chiapuzza is the last Italian hamlet, and Acquabuona is the first Austro-
Tyrolean village. San Vito is also called Borea. (Note to Second Edition.)

LONGARONE TO CORTINA.

A striped pole, alternately black and yellow, like a leg
of one of the Pope's guard, bestrides the road in front
of a dilapidated little custom-house. Here some three
or four ragged-looking Austrian soldiers are playing at
bowls, while a couple of officers lounging on a bench
outside the door, smoke their cigarettes and watch the
game. One of these, very tall, very shabby, very dirty,
with a glass screwed into his eye and a moustache
about eighteen inches in length, saunters up to the
carriage door. Being assured, however, that we carry
nothing contraband, he lifts his cap with an indescri
bable air of fashionable languor, and bids the coach
man drive on.
From this point, the invisible political line being
passed, one observes an immediate change not only in
the costumes, but in the build and features of the
people. They are a taller, fairer, finer race. The men
wear rude capes of undressed skins. The women (no
longer bare-legged, no longer coiffees with red and
yellow handkerchiefs) wear a kind of Bernese dress
consisting of a black petticoat, a black cloth bodice like
a tightly fitting waistcoat, white linen undersleeves
reaching to the elbow, a large blue apron, and a round
felt hat, like a man's.
By this time the Pelmo is out of sight, the Rochetta
is left behind, Sorapis is passed, and still new moun
tains rise against the horizon. To the left — a continua
tion, indeed, of the Rochetta— the Bee di Mezzodi and
the ridge of Beccolungo stand out like a row of jagged
teeth. On a line with these, but at least a mile farther
up the valley, the huge bulk of the Tofana looms up in

72 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
sullen majesty, headed by a magnificent precipice, like
a pyramid of red granite ; while to the right, Monte
Cristallo, a stupendous chevaux de frise of grey and
orange pinnacles, forms a grand background to the
clustered roofs, lofty campanile, and green pasturages
of Cortina.
For at last we are in sight of the place which is to
be our head-quarters for the next week, and the
wonderful drive is nearly at an end. Already, within
the compass of some fifteen English miles (i.e., from
Tai to Cortina), we have seen six of the most famous
Dolomites, three on the right bank and three on the
left of the Boita. Four out of the six exceed 10,500
feet in height ; while the Antelao * is, I believe, dis
tanced by only two of its rivals, namely, the Marmolata
and the Cimon della Pala. The new and amazing
forms of these colossal mountains ; their strange
colouring ; the mystery of their formation ; the singu
larity of their relative positions, each being so near its
neighbour, yet in itself so distinct and isolated ; the
curious fact that they are all so nearly of one height ;
their very names, so unlike the names of all other
mountains, high-sounding, majestic, like relics of a pre
historic tongue — all these sights and facts in sudden
combination confuse the imagination, and leave one be
wildered at first by the variety and rapidity with which
impression after impression has been charged upon the
* The relative altitudes of the Ampezzo Dolomites, as nearly as has yet
been ascertained, are as follows : — Antelao, 10,897 feet; Sorapis, 10,798 feet;
Tofana, 10,724 feet; Cristallo, 10,644 feet; Pelmo, 10,377 feet; and La
Rochetta, 7,793 feet.

LONGARONE TO CORTINA.

73

memory. It was therefore almost with a sense of relief
that, weary with wonder and admiration, we found
ourselves approaching the end of the day's journey.

HIGH STREET, CORTINA.

And now the road, which has been gradually descend
ing for many miles, enters Cortina at about a hundred
feet above the level of the Boita. First comes a
scattered house or two — then a glimpse of the old
church, the cemetery, and the public shooting-ground,

74 UNTRODDEN PEAKS <Sr» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
in a hollow down near the river — then a long irregular
street of detached homesteads, hostelries, and humble
shops — the new campanile, the pride of the village, 250
feet in height — the post-house at the corner of a little
piazza containing a public fountain — and finally, being
the last house in the place, the Aquila Nera,* a big
substantial albergo built in true Tyrolean fashion, like
a colossal Noah's ark, with rows upon rows of square
windows with bright green shutters, and a huge roof
with jutting eaves that looks as if it ought to take off
like a lid to let out the animals inside.
This, then, is our destination, and here we arrive
towards close of day, rattling through the village and
dashing up to the door with our driver's usual flourish,
just as if the greys, instead of having done thirty-five
miles to-day and thirty-four yesterday, were quite fresh,
and only now out of the stable. The Ghedinas, a father
and two sons, come out, not with much alacrity, to bid
us welcome. The writer, however, mentions a name of
might — the name of Francis Fox Tuckett ; and behold !
it acts upon the sullen trio like a talisman. Their
goodwill breaks forth in a ludicrous medley of Italian
and German. How! the Signora is a friend of "II
Tuckett" — of the " gran' brave Signore " whose achieve
ments are famed throughout all these valleys ? Gott in
Himmel ! shall not the whole house be at her disposal ?,

* At the time when the First Edition of this book was issued, the Aquila
Nera and the Stella d'Oro were the only hotels in Cortina ; these are now
much enlarged, and at least two new ones — the Croce Bianca and the Ancora
— have been opened. There is English Church service now at the Aquila
Nera, and old Ghedina is dead. (Note to Second Edition})

LONGARONE TO CORTINA. 75
Ecco ! the Aquila Nera will justify the recommendation
of " il brave Tuckett!"
Hereupon we alight. The old landlord puts out an
enormous brown paw ; we shake hands all round ; the
Kellnerin is summoned ; the best rooms are assigned to
us ; the cooks (and there seem to be plenty of them in
the huge gloomy kitchen) are set to work to prepare
supper ; a table is laid for us on the landing, which, as
we find henceforth, is the place of honour in every inn
throughout the Dolomite Tyrol ; and all that the Aquila
Nera contains is laid under contribution for our benefit.
It is a thorough Tyrolean hostelry, by no means
scrupulously clean, yet better provided and more spacious
than one would have expected to find even in this, the
most important village of the district. The bedrooms
are immense, though scantily furnished. A few small
mats of wolf and chamois skins are laid about here and
there ; but there is not such a thing as a carpet in the
house. At the Dependance, however — a new building
on the opposite side of the road, charmingly decorated
with external frescoes by one of the younger Ghedinas,
who is an artist in Venice — there are smaller rooms to
be had, with good iron bedsteads and some few modern
comforts. But we knew nothing of this till a day or
two after, when we were glad to move into the more
quiet house, though at the cost of having always to
cross over for meals.
In the way of food, a kind of rough plenty reigns.
Luxuries, of course, are out of the question ; but of veal,
sausage, eggs, cheese, and sauer-kraut there is abun
dance. Drovers, guides, peasant-farmers and travel-
E 2

76 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
lers of all grades are eating, drinking, smoking, all day
long in the public rooms, of which there are at least four
in the lower floors of the big house. The kitchen chim
ney is smoking, the cooks are cooking, the taps are
running " from morn till dewy eve." We, arriving at
dewy eve, come in for an all-pervading atmosphere of
tobacco and garlic — the accumulated incense of the
day's sacrifices.
With all this plenty, however, and all this custom, the
wealthiest and most fastidious traveller must fare off
the same meats and drinks as the poorest. The only
foreign wine that Ghedina keeps in his cellar is a rough
Piedmontese vintage called Vino Barbera, which costs
about two francs the bottle. If you do not like that, you
must drink beer ; or thin country wine, either red or
white ; or an inexpressibly nauseous spirit distilled from
the root of a small plant nearly resembling the ordinary
Plantago major, or common English plantain. An infe
rior kind of Kirschwasser is, I believe, also to be had ;
but as for brandy, I doubt if there is one drop to be found
in the whole country between Belluno and Bruneck.
For the rest, the inn is well enough, though one feels
the want of a mistress in the establishment. Ghedina
pere is a wealthy widower, and his three stalwart sons, all
unmarried, live at home and attend, in a grim unwilling
way, to the housekeeping and stabling. Their horses,
by the way, are first-rate — far too good for rough
country work ; while in the adjoining outbuildings are
to be found a capital landau, a light chaise, some three
or four carettini, and  a side saddle ! How this
article, in itself neither rare nor beautiful, came pre-

LONGARONE TO CORTINA. 77
sently to occupy the foremost place in our affections and
desires ; how we fought for its possession against all
comers ; how we begged it, borrowed it, and finally
stole it, will be seen hereafter.
Meanwhile, arriving late and tired, we were glad to
accept the big rooms in the big house ; to put up with
the atmosphere ; to sup on the landing ; to hear the
downstairs revellers going away long after we were
in bed ; and even to be waked by the wild cry of the
village watchman at intervals all through the dark
hours of the night. It was not, perhaps, quite so
agreeable to be aroused next morning at earliest dawn
by a legion of carpenters in the street below flinging
down loads of heavy planks, driving in posts by the way
side, hammering, shouting, and making noise enough
to wake not only the living but the dead. For this,
however, as for every discomfort, there was compensa
tion at hand ; and our satisfaction was great on being
told that the grand yearly Sagro, or church-festival,
would be celebrated a few days hence, and that our
noisy friends outside were already beginning to erect
booths in preparation for the annual fair which is held
at the same time. It is the most important fair in all
this part of the Austrian and Italian Tyrol, and is
attended by an average concourse of from twelve to
fifteen hundred peasants from every hill and valley for
nearly thirty miles round about Cortina.

AT CORTINA.

CORTINA, ITS SITUATION, CLIMATE, AND TRADE — A MESSA CANTATA —
THE VILLAGE CEMETERY — A FIRST ASCENT — THE GHEDINAS AND
THEIR ART — AN UNKNOWN MOUNTAIN — AN AFTERNOON STROLL —
THE ANTELAO — PLEASANT TYROLEAN WAYS — STROLLING ACROBATS —
DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP BETWEEN OURSELVES AND THE
COURIER — DIFFICULTIES ARISING THEREFROM — SANTO SIORPAES —
THE SIDE-SADDLE QUESTION AGAIN — A TYROLEAN " CARETTA "—
NEAR VIEW OF THE TOFANA — AMAZING COSTUMES — THE PEZZES —
SUMMIT OF THE TRE SASSI PASS — THE MARMOLATA — THE " SIGNORA
CUOCA."

CHAPTER IV.
AT CORTINA.
Situate on the left bank of the Boita which here
runs nearly due north and south, with the Tre Croci
pass opening away behind the town to the east, and the
Tre Sassi Pass widening before it to the west, Cortina
lies in a comparatively open space between four great
mountains, and is therefore less liable to danger from
bergfalls than any other village not only in the Val
d'Ampezzo but in the whole adjacent district. For
the same reason, it is cooler in summer than either
Caprile, Agordo, Primiero, or Predazzo ; all of which,
though more central as stopping places and in many
respects more convenient, are yet somewhat too
closely hemmed in by surrounding heights.
The climate of Cortina is temperate throughout the
year. Ball gives the village an elevation of 4048
feet above the level of the sea ; and one of the parish
priests — an intelligent old man who has devoted
many years of his life to collecting the flora of the
Ampezzo — assured me that he had never known the
thermometer drop so low as fifteen degrees* of frost
* Reaumur.

82 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &• UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
in even the coldest winters. The soil, for all this,
has a bleak and barren look ; the maize (here called
grano Turco) is cultivated, but does not flourish ; and
the vine is unknown. But then agriculture is not a
speciality of the Ampezzo Thai, and the wealth of
Cortina is derived essentially from its pasture-lands
and forests. These last, in consequence of the
increased and increasing value of timber, have been
lavishly cut down of late years by the Commune — too
probably at the expense of the future interests of
Cortina. For the present, however, every inn, home
stead, and public building bespeaks prosperity. The
inhabitants are well-fed and well-dressed. Their fairs
and festivals are the most considerable in all the
South Eastern Tyrol ; their principal church is the
largest this side of St. Ulrich ; and their new gothic
Campanile, 250 feet high, might suitably adorn the
piazza of such cities as Bergamo or Belluno. The
village contains about 700 souls, but the population
of the Commune numbers over 2500. Of these, the
greater part, old and young, rich and poor, men,
women and children, are engaged in the timber trade.
Some cut the wood ; some transport it. The wealthy
convey it on trucks drawn by fine horses which,
however, are cruelly overworked. The poor harness
themselves six or eight in a team, men, women, and
boys together, and so, under the burning summer
sun, drag loads that look as if they might be too
much for an elephant. Going out, as usual, before
breakfast the morning of the day following our arrival
at Cortina, the first sight that met my eyes was a

AT CORTINA. 83

very old woman, perhaps eighty years of age, and a
sickly little boy of about ten, roped to a kind of
rough sledge piled up with at least half a ton
weight of rough planks.
Eight o'clock mass is performed at each church al
ternately, every morning throughout the year. To-day
it happened to be down at the old church, and thither,
attracted by their quaint costumes, I followed a party
of chattering peasant girls, some of whom had their
milk cans and market baskets in their hands. These
they carried into the church, taking off their hats at
the door, like men, and remaining uncovered through
out the service. The congregation consisted of some
three or four score of very old women with scant white
polls ; a sprinkling of square-headed robust-looking
damsels with silver pins in their clubbed and plaited
hair ; and a few old men, so tanned and gnarled and
bent that they looked as if carved out of rough brown
wood. Then trooped noisily in some four hundred
children of both sexes, and filled the benches next the
altar, while the old bell-ringer, having rung his last
peal, came hobbling up the aisle in heavy wooden
clogs and baggy breeches, and lit the candles on the
altar. Presently appeared a priest in black and gold
vestments, attended by a little red-headed acolyte, like
one of John Bellini's angels ; the organist (by no
means a bad player) led off with "Ah che la Morte " on
a tremolo stop ; the congregation dropped on their
knees ; and the service began.
Musically speaking, it was one of those performances
which one enjoys the more the less one hears of it. A

84 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
showy operatic mass by some modern Italian composer,
a reedy organ, and a choir which might have been better
trained, made up an ensemble that soon sent the writer
creeping towards the door.
It was delightful to get out again into the glorious
morning. The sun was now shining deliciously ; the
air was heavy with the scent of new-mown hay ; and
the birds were singing their own little Hymn of Praise
in a way that turned the Cortina choir to unmitigated
discord. It was one of those mornings steeped in dewy
freshness, when distant sounds and sights are brought
supernaturally near, when lights are strangely bright,
and shadows transparent, and the very mountains look
more awake than usual. Even Tofana, rarely seen
without a turban of storm-cloud, rose sharp and clear
to-day against the sky.
Just opposite the old church lies the village cemetery.
The gate stood ajar, and I went in — not certainly
expecting to find the " God's Acre " of this wealthy
commune a mere weedgrown wilderness. But so it
was. Here a confusion of rough stone-heaps marking
the graves of the poor- — -yonder a few marble tablets
and iron crosses against the wall, recording the names
of the better-class dead — -everywhere coarse deep grass,
thistles, nettles, loose stones, broken pottery and
trampled clay. A couple of hand-biers, a pile of black
tressels, a spade and a coil of rope, lay ready for use
under a stone arcade at the farther end of the en
closure. Not a flower was there, not a touch of poetry
or pathos in the place ; nothing but indifference, irreve
rence, and neglect. This ugly sight, somehow, brought

AT CORTINA. 85

back the recollection of an alms-box that I had seen
not long ago outside a pretty little cemetery near
Luino, bearing the following inscription: — " Messe
Funerale. Nel nome della Beata Maria, carita per
noi." (Funeral Masses. We implore charity in the
name of the Blessed Mary.) This appeal, coming like
a voice from the dead, had struck me at the time as
very awful ; but here it would have been still more
awful, and more appropriate.
Going homewards, I found sheds and booths of all
sizes springing up the whole length of the village street,
and a great wooden enclosure like a circus being
erected in the piazza opposite the albergo of the Stella
d'Oro. A huge coloured poster, representing feats of
the trapeze, clowns, human pyramids and the like,
pasted on a space of blank wall close by, sufficiently
accounted for the shape and size of this building.
" But what is the Sagro ?" I asked of a young priest
who was gravely watching the carpenters at their work.
" Is it a fair? "
" It is a festival of the Church, Signora," he replied,
with an air of reproof, and walked away.
A Sagro, however, as I soon came to know, is both
a fair and a religious festival ; and it takes place once a
year in every village on the anniversary of the conse
cration of the church, or on the festa of the saint to
whom the church is dedicated. And there are so
many villages scattered about the country, that a
Sagro is said to be going on somewhere every day in
the year.
Hurrying back now to breakfast, I found the Ghe-

86 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
dinas, our courier, and a group of guides and peasants
assembled outside the door of the Aquila Nera, staring
up at the rugged peak known as the Bee di Mezzodi,
on the opposite side of the valley. Telescopes were
being passed from hand to hand, amid exclamations
of " Eccoli ! " " Brave Signore ! " " Brave Inglese ! "
— and old Ghedina, steadying his own glass for me
against an angle of wall, bade me look "up yonder"
for my countrymen.
Two English gentlemen then staying with their wives
in the Dependance of the Aquila Nera had, it seemed,
this morning achieved the first ascent of that singular
peak so aptly described by Mr. Gilbert as a" carious
tooth of Dolomite." The Bee itself looked neither very
high nor very difficult, but I afterwards learned that it
was peculiarly steep and fissured, and that they had
hard work to conquer it. Ghedina's glass proved to be
a good one, and I distinctly saw the figures of the
climbers and their guides standing together on the top
most peak, relieved against the sky.
It being our intention to spend some little time at
Cortina, thence making such excursions as lay within
easy reach, we decided to devote this first day to
getting ourselves acquainted with the general "lay" of
the country. The most effectual way of achieving this
end is, of course, to ascend some height ; so, having
consulted Ghedina's written list of excursions, we
agreed to spend the morning in rambling about the
village, and after luncheon to stroll up to the Crepa di
Belvedere — a little summer house, or Jager-lodge,
lately erected at a point of view on the face of a cliff

AT CORTINA. 87

overlooking Cortina and the valley, about an hour and
a half's easy walk from the village, and about twenty
minutes to the left of the cross on the road to the Tre
Sassi Pass. The Belvedere, a tiny white speck against
a scar of red cliff in the midst of a long sweep of fir-
forest, is seen from the windows of the inn and lies
before the climber all the way.
Meanwhile, however, we breakfasted, wrote letters,
examined the paintings and frescoes in and about the
two houses, and made arrangements for shifting our
quarters into the quieter and better furnished rooms
over the way. Two of the younger Ghedinas, it
seemed, were painters ; a third carved cleverly in wood ;
and the fourth (a grave practical man devoted to the
business, the stabling, and the wood trade) played a
trombone in the village band.
Both houses are full of heads and studies in oil,
designs for large pictures, and sketches of unequal
merit. A head of a bearded man in one of the upper
chambers of the Aquila Nera, and two half-lengths of
his father and mother in the dining room, may be taken
as fair specimens of the skill of the portrait-painting
son ; while the external frescoes of the Dependance,
two in the new church, and all sorts of rough and
ready designs, some military, some religious, some
grotesque, flung here and there upon the walls of stair
cases, cart-sheds, neighbours' house-fronts and so forth,
represent the superior gifts and culture of the brother
who lives in Venice. As for the decorations of the
Dependance, they are full of power, and to the sound
drawing and skilful designing of the Munich school,

88 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
add a warmth and tenderness of colour almost Italian.
Three large groups representing Sculpture and
Architecture, Painting, and the Physical Sciences, and
three medallions containing portraits of Raffaelle,
Titian and Albert Diirer, cover all that is not window-
space above the ground floor. The figure of Mercury
in the first group and of Urania in the last, and the
way in which such stubborn objects as the steam-
engine, camera, and telegraphic apparatus have been
pictorially treated, are deserving of particular notice.
To Albert Diirer, like a true German, the artist gives
the middle place among the medallions.
Very different, though almost as good in their way,
are the mounted Cossacks, wild horses, and mediaeval
men-at-arms that skirmish all over the whitewashed
walls of the outhouses and stables of the Aquila Nera ;
to say nothing of the fantastic devil, all teeth and claws,
that grins upon unsuspecting customers from outside
the stove in the only chemist's shop in Cortina. We
asked for the painter ; but he was far away in Venice,
and his studio, they told us, was not only closed but
empty. To ascend the Campanile and get the near view over
the village, was obviously one of the first duties of a
visitor ; so, finding the door open and the old bellringer
inside, we mounted laboriously to the top — nearly a
hundred feet higher than the leaning tower of Pisa.
Standing here upon the outer gallery above the level of
the great bells, we had the village and valley at our
feet. The panorama, though it included little which we
had not seen already, was fine all round, and served to

AT CORTINA.

impress the main landmarks upon our memory. The
Ampezzo Thai opened away to North and South, and
the twin passes of the Tre Croci and Tre Sassi inter
sected it to East and West. When we had fixed in our
minds the fact that Landro and Bruneck lay out to the

UNKNOWN MOUNTAINS NEAR CORTINA.

North, and Perarolo to the South ; that Auronzo was to
be found somewhere on the other side of the Tre Croci ;
and that to arrive at Caprile it was necessary to go over
the Tre Sassi, we had gained something in the way of
definite topography. The Marmolata and Civetta, as
we knew by our maps, were on the side of Caprile ; and
the Marmarole on the side of Auronzo. The Pelmo,
left behind yesterday, was peeping even now above the

90 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
ridge of the Rochetta ; and a group of fantastic rocks,
so like the towers and bastions of a ruined castle that
we took them at first sight for the remains of some
mediaeval stronghold, marked the summit of the Tre
Sassi to the West.
" But what mountain is that far away to the South?"
we asked, pointing in the direction of Perarolo.
" Which mountain, Signora ? "
" That one yonder, like a cathedral front with two
towers." The old bellringer shaded his eyes with one tremb
ling hand, and peered down the valley.
" Eh," he said, " it is some mountain on the Italian
side" (E una montagna della parte d'ltalia).
" But what is it called ? "
" Eh," he repeated, with a puzzled look, " chi lo sa ?
I don't know that I ever noticed it before."
Now it was a very singular mountain — one of the most
singular and the most striking that we saw throughout
the tour. It was exactly like the front of Notre Dame,
with one slender aiguille, like a flagstaff, shooting up
from the top of one of its battlemented towers. It was
conspicuous from most points on the left bank of the
Boita ; but the best view, as I soon after discovered,
was from the rising ground behind Cortina, going up
through the fields in the direction of the Begontina
torrent. From thence I made the accompanying
sketch ; and to this spot we returned again and again,
fascinated as much, perhaps, by the mystery in which
it was enveloped, as by the majestic outline of this
unknown mountain, to which, for want of a better, we

i

c:' '

iifes.

X|||

Mlllllll'lillll1''!' "!:!:  ^_.'

"T^

AT CORTINA. 93

gave the name of Notre Dame. For the old bellringer
was not alone in his ignorance. Ask whom we would,
we invariably received the same vague reply — it was a
mountain " della parte d'ltalia." They knew no more ;
and some, like our friend of the Campanile, had
evidently " not noticed it before."
What with the great heat of the afternoon, which
made uphill work difficult and rapid walking impossible ;
what with the wonderful wild flowers that enticed us
continually from the path ; what with chatting to
peasants by the way, stopping to study the landscape,
sketching, and so forth, we never reached the chalet of
the Belvedere, after all. We came very near it, how
ever, and gained a magnificent view over the valley, the
Cristallo group, and the range of the Croda Malcora.
Hence also, from a grassy knoll near the cross below
the Crepa, the writer devoted a long hour to making a
careful drawing of the Antelao which is here seen to its
greatest advantage. From no other point, indeed, is it
possible, so far as I am aware, to get so good a view of
the great snow slope at the back of the summit in com
bination with the splintered buttresses that strike down
towards Borca and Vodo in the front*
The first ascent of the highest peak of this mountain
was achieved by that famous climber, Dr. Grohmann,
in 1863 ; and the second, in 1864, by Lord Francis
Douglas of hapless memory, accompanied by Mr. F. L.
Latham and by two guides named Matteo Ossi and
Santo Siorpaes. The latter — a brave, hardy, faithful
* The height of the Antelao, as determined by the last Austrian survey, is
3,320 metres, or 10,897 English feet. (Note to Second Edition.) F 2

94 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
fellow, who travelled with us later in the autumn
among the Italian Alps and through the Zermatt
district — assured me that Lord Francis, though so
young, was an excellent mountaineer, and described
him as " buono, bello, e biondino " (good, handsome,
and fair).
The ascent is taken from a pass called the Forcella
Piccola which divides the mass of the Marmarole from
that of the Antelao, and is most quickly reached from
San Vito. Owing to the long snow-slope before men
tioned, this mountain, up to a certain point, is con
sidered to be easier than any other great Dolomite
except the Marmolata ; but the last pull up the actual
pinnacle, which rises " with formidable steepness " to a
height of some three hundred feet, and curves over like
a horn, is said to be difficult. It was supposed to be
inaccessible till Dr. Grohmann's time, when the fortunate
discovery of a certain cleft by one of his Cortina guides,
opened the way to the German cragsman and to all who
should come after him. A good climber can ascend
from, and return to San Vito in eleven hours, exclusive
of halts.
The country folk were all coming up to their homes
on the pasturages of Monte Averau, as we went down
again in the cool of the early evening — some with empty
milk-pails, having sold their milk in Cortina ; others
carrying home their store of bread and flour, just pur
chased. One or two begged somewhat abjectly for a
soldo " per l'amor di Dio ; " but for the most part they
passed with a brisk step, a pleasant smile, and a cheer
ful " Guten Abend," or " buona sera." A civil, kindly

AT CORTINA. 95

people on the whole, as we soon came to know right
well ! A people ready with good wishes and little
friendly salutations which, even if they have come to be
spoken as mere matters of course, yet help to keep
warm the spirit of good will. If they pass through the
room where you are at meals, they wish you " good
appetite ; " if you are going out, " a pleasant walk ; " if
on your way to bed, " sound sleep and happy dreams."
You yawn, and they wish you " felicita ; " you sneeze,
and they say " salute."
That evening, as we were sitting down to a meal
which was dinner, or supper, or both, we were startled
by a furious discord of drums and brass instruments in
the street below. It was the company of strolling
acrobats who had just arrived and were parading
through the village, followed by all the boys and idlers
in the place : — a drummer on stilts ; a buffoon in high
collars and a tall hat, like Paul Pry ; some half dozen
athletic fellows in the traditional fillets and fleshings ;
and about as many hideous-looking, muscular women,
tramping the dusty road in white shoes and the briefest
conceivable skirts. The " theatre " it seemed was to
open to-morrow, although the Sagro would not be held
till Sunday.
It was on the morning of the third day after we had
settled down at Cortina, that the storm which had so
long been gathering, burst at last. Supported by the
consciousness of his own merit, the courier had borne
with us till he could bear with us no longer. Now,
however, the near prospect of being dragged over passes
and up mountains, of having to ride on a mule for days

96 UNTRODDEN PEAKS Sf UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
in succession, and of living for many weeks to come in
Tyrolean albergos several degrees less comfortable than
the Aquila Nera, was too much for the great man's
philosophy. He understood, he said, that there were
no carriage-roads to most of the places laid down in our
maps, and " no suitable accommodation such as he was
accustomed to when travelling with parties who placed
confidence in his opinion ; " he therefore begged leave
to tender his resignation, and his accounts. Our vaga
bond tastes, in short, were too much for him ; and he
deserted us (if that could be called desertion which must
in all likelihood have taken the form of dismissal ere
long) just at the time when the protection of a trust
worthy and respectable man had become an indispensa
ble condition of our journey.
It is needless to add that the fortnight's notice which
he offered was summarily rejected, and that he was then
and there paid off and done with. As for L., by whom
he had been retained for months before we joined forces
in Naples, she transacted the whole affair with an
amount of withering sang-froid which speedily reduced
the offender to a condition of abject humility. He made
an effort by-and-by to assert his indifference by playing
at bowls in front of the albergo ; but went away in the
afternoon outside the Longarone Stell-wagen, quite
crestfallen. And now, what was to be done ? Could we possibly
go on with only guides, and no courier ? Or must the
tour through the wild heart of the country be given up,
just as we had come within sight of our promised land ?
These were questions that must be solved before we

AT CORTINA. 97

could venture one day's journey beyond the post roads
of Cortina.
As a matter of choice, we infinitely preferred the
absence of our discontented friend. It was so delicious,
indeed, to be without him, that L. said she felt as if a
necklace of millstones had been taken from round her
neck ; but then, as a matter of expediency, his defection
was undeniably inconvenient. Could he, however, be
in any way replaced— not, of course by another courier,
that kind of article being quite unknown in these
primitive valleys ; but by some reliable man, as, for
instance, Santo Siorpaes, who had been especially
recommended to us beforehand, and who was reputed
to be the best head-guide in Cortina ?
To send for him and offer him an engagement for the
whole journey was the first step to be taken. He
came : — a bright-eyed, black-haired mountaineer about
forty ; a mighty chamois hunter ; an ex-soldier in the
Austrian army, and now a custode of forests, and local
inspector of roads ; an active, eager fellow, brown as a
berry, with honesty written in his face, and an open
vivacious manner that won our liking at first sight.
Unfortunately, however, this jewel of a guide was
pledged for the next six or eight weeks and could not
by any means get free. Had he no friend, we asked,
whom he could recommend to take his place ? He
pondered the question, and looked doubtful. There
was old Lacedelli, he said, but he was too old ; and
there was young Lacedelli, but he was too young. Also
there was a certain Angelo, but he was away, and would
not be back for a month. Then, again, most of the

98 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
men about Cortina were good enough at rough climb
ing, but not used to travelling with ladies. Well, he
would think it over — he would think it over, and let
the Signoras know. But when would he let us know ?
This evening ? He shook his head. This evening he
was engaged to start for some distant valley with a
party of gentlemen who were to ascend a mountain to
morrow. No — he could not promise to see us again
before Sunday ; but he would then wait upon us after
High Mass.
This was all we could obtain from him. It was not
much ; and we began to have dismal forebodings of the
failure of our plans.
Meanwhile, however, it was of no use to despond.
There was plenty to be done at Cortina, whatever
happened. We could go to Pieve di Cadore, to Aur
onzo, to Landro, by good carriage roads. We could
see about the side-saddles. We could even go in what
our landlord called a "caretta" as far as Falzarego,
the hospice on the summit of the Tre Sassi pass, and
thence obtain a view of the Marmolata.
During the present uncertainty, it was some comfort
first of all to agitate this question of the side-saddles.
In the event of our being able to carry out the journey,
they were of more real importance than a whole army of
couriers. Without them, certainly, we could do nothing
in the way of peaks or passes.
Now we knew from previous information that Madame
Pezze, landlady of the inn at Caprile, had a saddle
which was presented to her for the use of lady travellers
by F. F- T. A persuasive note couched in the writer's

AT CORTINA. 99

best Italian was therefore sent over by a special mes
senger, who had instructions to bring the precious object
back, if possible, upon his shoulders.
Then old Ghedina also possessed one ; but, divining
perhaps that we should be over-long borrowers, was
particularly reluctant to show it. It was not till the
writer succeeded in following him one day into the
stable, that this mysterious treasure was allowed to see
the light. It proved to be a fairly good saddle ; but
then it was only one, and if we even obtained Madame
Pezze's, we should still require a third.
" I am expecting a new sella di donna from Vienna,"
sputtered the old landlord, in his polyglot patois. " Eiu
schoner Sattel /"
" When will it arrive ?" I asked eagerly.
" Diavolo ! I don't know. Perhaps to-night — perhaps
next week. I have been expecting it every day for the
last three months !"
I relapsed into hopelessness.
The old man grinned from ear to ear — he had a
large, brown, flat face that looked as if it had been sat
upon — and patted me on the shoulder with a paw like a
Bengal tiger's.
" Tut ! tut !" he said, " you are a brava Signora — you
shall not be disappointed. We'll dress up a Basta for
the cameriera, and all shall be well !"
This promise of the Basta was obscure, but comfort
ing. I had not the slightest idea of what a Basta was,
and Ghedina could only tell me what it was not. It
was not a side-saddle. It was not a chair. It was not
a railed seat with a foot-rest, like a child's donkey saddle.

ioo UNTRODDEN PEAKS &- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
It had to be made when required, and should be forth
coming when wanted. Beyond this point we could not
get ; and there the matter had to rest, at all events for
the present.
Next morning we ordered the caretta to take us to
Falzarego. It would be difficult, perhaps, to say why,
but we were longing to see the Marmolata, and could not
rest till we had achieved, at least, a distant glimpse of
him. In the first place, it is supposed to be the highest
of all the Dolomites ; in the second, its snowfields and
glaciers are more extensive than those of any of its
neighbours ; and in the third place, it is so hemmed in
on all sides by other mountains that it is very difficult to
obtain a view of it at all.*
The morning was somewhat doubtful. The Tofana
had on its helmet of cloud, and though the sun shone
brilliantly at times, there was an unsettled, uncertain
look about the rolling cumuli that kept us hesitating till
nearly eleven a.m. Then old Ghedina pronounced in
favour of the weather, and we resolved to venture.
I shall not soon forget our dismay at first sight of the
caretta. It was simply a wooden trough on four wheels,
some seven feet in length by three and a half in breadth,
with a cross-wise plank to sit upon. The horse — a
magnificent light chesnut full seventeen hands high,
with a huge leather collar like an Elizabethan ruff-
towered above the vehicle ; and a boy sat on the shafts
to drive. Springs, of course, there were none ; cushions
* Except from some considerable height, such as the top of the Tre Sassi
the Col d'Alleghe, or the Col Fiorentino, I know few points from which it is
even visible.

AT CORTINA.

there were none ; but mats and rugs were piled in
abundantly, and so we started.
Our way lay over the bridge and up past the cross
where we had rested and sketched a day or two before.
Again the great view over the valley became unrolled
like a scroll beneath our feet. Again the Cristallo, the
Croda Malcora, Sorapis and Antelao seemed to rise as
we rose, and the Tofana loomed nearer and more
threatening with every step of our progress. Now,
mounting ever higher among green slopes gorgeous
with wild flowers, and through pine-woods all abloom
with strawberry blossoms, we left the Cortina view
behind, and passed close under the south-west face of
the Tofana — so close that we could distinctly see the
mouth of a famous cavern which is said to penetrate for
many hundred feet into the heart of the mountain.
Seen from the Tre Sassi road, it looks perfectly in
accessible — a mere rabbit-hole in the face of a vertical
and triangular precipice, like the entrance to the Great
Pyramid. This cavern, however, is one of the sights of
Cortina, and can be reached without difficulty when
there is an accumulation of snow upon the slopes
beneath. And now, as we mount higher, rounding the last
buttresses of the Tofana and coming in sight of the
first outlying ridge of Monte Lagazuoi, we begin to
meet frequent groups of peasants, some two and
three, some twelve or fifteen strong; some carrying
huge loads of home-spun frieze and linen on their
backs ; some laden with wooden ware ; some with
ljve poultry ; all in their holiday clothes, and all

102 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
bound for the great Sagro. They are of all ages,
and apparently of all grades ; old folks and young,
farmers and farm-servants — a stumpy, sturdy, fresh-
coloured, honest-looking race ; the women with legs
like pillars, and the men averaging from five foot five
to five foot seven in height. The old men wear
knee breeches and comical little frieze coats very
short and full in the skirts, with two large buttons
set high up in the middle of their backs, like a pair
of eyes. The young fellows affect trousers and
embroidered braces, and carry little bunches of
coloured feathers and artificial flowers in their hats.
The costumes of the girls, however, are quite over
whelming, and unlike anything that we have yet
seen. They wear hats like the men, and adorned in
the same manner ; dark green, blue, or brown skirts
laid in close folds like the plaiting of a kilt, and
starting from just between the shoulders, like a
sacque ; bodices open in front and laced with purple
braid ; sleeves tight to the arm and wrist, but slashed
at the top with a puffing of white linen ; and round
their necks bright scarlet and yellow handkerchiefs of
printed cotton.
" What people are these ? " we ask, as the first
of many such apparitions appears before us at a turn
of the road.
To which the boy on the shafts — a laughing,
merry fellow named Giovanni — replies that these
are contadine from Buchenstein, Livinallungo, and
Corfara. "But Corfara is a long way off!" exclaims L.,

AT CORTINA. 103

who is better up in her maps than myself, and knows
something of the distances.
" Eh ! some of them come forty, fifty, sixty miles
over the mountains — some walk all night both
coming and going. Ecco ! " (with a critical glance
at the pillars before-mentioned) "what are the miles
to a donzella like that ! "
Meanwhile, we are suffering agonies of dislocation ;
for the road (which is only just wide enough for our
wheels, and overhangs a precipice at the bottom of
which foams a roaring torrent) is full of loose stones,
over which the caretta jolts and blunders, creaks,
leaps and rolls in such a distracting manner that we
are fain at last to get out and walk.
The glen now grows narrower, and the castellated
rocks which we had already observed from Cortina
are seen high above sloping woods on the opposite
bank of the stream. Giovanni, who knows every
thing, informs us that they are here called the
Torette, and form part of the crest of Monte
Nuvolau ;* and that the torrent, which takes its rise
somewhere among the fastnesses of Lagazuoi, is
known as the Costeana.
More and more pedestrians, meanwhile, keep troop
ing past. The farther we go, the thicker they come.
Where will they all sleep to-night ? The Aquila
Nera arid the Stella d'Oro, were they each four times
their present size, would not hold more than half
* Giovanni can hardly have been right. The Nuvolau lies W.S.W. of
Cortina, and would not have been visible in that direction. The " Torette "
more probably belong to the Becca di Mezzodi or La Rochetta.

104 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
of them ; and yet this is only one road out of many.
At this moment they are tramping into Cortina from
Auronzo, from Pieve di Cadore, and from all the
villages of the Ampezzo Thai. There will be fifteen
hundred strangers, says our driver, in Cortina to
night. And now, quite suddenly, we come upon a better-
dressed group than any we have yet met — -two tall,
gentlemanly-looking young men and a lady, followed
by a countryman with their luggage on his back.
The lady is young and pretty, with a rose in her
black hair, and no bonnet. The young men lift
their hats as they pass. The countryman, plodding
after them, looks up with a somewhat knowing
expression, and touches his cap. But what is he
carrying on his back ? Not their luggage, after all.
A side-saddle ! A large, new side-saddle, with a third
pommel to screw, and a velvet-lined stirrup dangling
down behind. It was our own messenger — it was
Madame Pezze's saddle !
Hearing a duet of joyful exclamations in the rear,
the young lady turned round, smiling. The young
men came forward, smiling also. They were Madame
Pezze's two sons, Lieutenant Cesare Pezze, an ex-
Garibaldian officer, and young Agostino Pezze, who,
with his mother, keeps the inn at Caprile. The
damsel with the rose in her hair was Agostino's
wife. They had come over the pass on foot, and
were bound, like everyone else, for the Sagro at
Cortina. Concluding, of course, that we were on our way to

AT CORTINA. 105

Caprile, their surprise was great that we should have
left Cortina without waiting for the festival ; but they
were still more astonished on finding that we had come
up all this way only to peep at the Marmolata and go
back again.
" Shall we get a good view ? " I asked, somewhat
anxiously ; for the clouds had been gathering gloomily
during the last half hour.
They shook their heads and looked doubtful. The
mists were thickening fast, they said, on the other side.
We must push on at once for the top, and delay for nothing
at the Hospice. The mountain was quite clear half an
hour ago — but soon there would be nothing of it visible.
This opinion brought our interview to an abrupt con
clusion, and, with the promise of meeting again to
morrow, sent us hurrying away towards the Hospice —
a small white cottage by the roadside, about a quarter
of a mile ahead.
Here we left the caretta, bade Giovanni attend to the
comforts of his horse, and hastened on alone towards
the top. We had but to follow the road, which swept
round and across a wild slope of barren moor bounded
by the crags of Lagazuoi on the one hand, and by the
low-lying ridge of Monte Nuvolau on] the other. Tall
posts, each the stem of a stout fir-tree, were here set
at regular intervals along the side of the path, like tele
graph posts, to mark the course of the road ; — a neces
sary precaution at this height (7,073 feet) where the
snow lies deep for eight months out of every twelve.
Even now, on the sixth of July, every rift and hollow
held its yet unmelted snowdrift.

106 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
And now a rough wayside cross comes into sight a
few yards farther ahead — a swift runner overtakes us —
and Giovanni, breathless and flushed, exclaims : —
" Ecco, Signore ! Ecco la croce ! Di la vedremo la
Marmolata." (See, Signore ! Yonder is the cross !
From there we shall see the Marmolata.")
And from there, by rare good fortune, we do see it —
a huge, roof-shaped mass, sloping, and smooth, and
snowy white against a leaden sky. For vastness of
expression and extent of snow, as seen from this side,
it recalls Mont Blanc. Distance, instead of diminishing
its bulk, seems by contrast with surrounding heights, to
enhance it. The two valleys of Andraz and Livinal-
lungo, the Monte Padon, and a whole sea of minor
peaks occupy the intervening space ; and yet the Mar
molata seems to fill the scene.
But only for a few seconds ! Even as we stand there,
eagerly gazing at it, the summit becomes dimmed ; the
outline fades ; a pale grey tint spreads over the snow-
fields ; and there remains only a blurred, gigantic, in
definite Something, scarcely to be distinguished from the
mists by which it is surrounded.
" Diavolo of a Marmolata ! " exclaims Giovanni.
" The Signoras were only just in time — but they have
seen him pulito.'"
Now this word " pulito " (clean) in one sense or
another, is always on the tip of Giovanni's tongue ;
and, as I soon afterwards find, is used indiscriminately
for clear, brilliant, successful, intelligible, and a dozen
other meanings, throughout this part of the Tyrol.
Your mule goes "pulito." Your new boots fit you

AT CORTINA. 107

"pulito." Your field glass shows objects "pulito."
You achieve a creditable bit of climbing, and are com
plimented on having done it "pulito." Your driver
was drunk last evening, but you are assured that he is
" pulito " (in the sense of sober) this morning. It is, in
short, a word of most elastic capabilities ; but some
what puzzling to strangers for that reason.
The Marmolata having retired from the scene, we
now turn back, taking a short cut across the dreary
" Col " and finding by the way some exquisite specimens
of wild Daphne (Daphne Cneorum), abundance of the
small mountain gentian (Gentiana vernd), and large
clusters of a very lovely, tiny pink flower * with wax
like petals, minute and close as a lichen, and unlike
anything that either of us has ever seen before.
Arrived at the Hospice, and being by this time very
hungry, we go in, and are welcomed by a clean, smiling
padrona who (because her one public room is full of
peasants eating, drinking and smoking) invites us into
the kitchen — a model kitchen, like a kitchen in a Dutch
picture, with a floor of bright red bricks, and a roaring
wood-fire, and rows upon rows of brass and copper pans
shining like mirrors. She proves to be richer, however,
in cooking utensils than in provisions ; for dry bread,
eggs, butter, and a coarse, uneatable mountain cheese
are all she has to offer.
Still, with eggs and butter one is not obliged to
starve. The writer, in a moment of happy inspiration,
undertakes the part of cook, and offers to concoct a
* Mr. Tuckett suggests that this may have been the Androsace glacialis.

108 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

certain dish known as "buttered eggs," or, more
politely, as "hasty omelette." So an apron is borrowed,
and, to the unbounded entertainment of the landlady
and her servant, the savoury mess is prepared in a few
minutes. From that moment I am known at Falzarego
as the " Signora Cuoca " (the Signora-Cook) ; am
greeted by that title the next time I appear at the Hos
pice ; and am remembered by it, doubtless, to this day.
By the time we are again ready to start, the mists
have rolled up to the top of the pass, and the sky all
round looks black and threatening. Some peasants
outside predict a storm, and counsel us to get down
into the valley as quickly as may be ; so the chesnut
is hastily put to, and we rattle off just as the first heavy
drops come splashing down to a low accompaniment of
very distant thunder.
The storm, however, if there was a storm, remained
locked in on the other side of the pass. We soon left
it behind ; and long before we reached the point lead
ing to the Crepa di Belvedere, the sun was shining
brilliantly.

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE.

THE SAGRO OF CORTINA — A TYROLEAN SERMON — THE PEASANT
MAIDEN OF LIVINALLUNGO — THE COURIER REPLACED — AN AMPEZZO
WEDDING — THE TOFANA — PEUTELSTEIN — THE HOLLENSTEIN THAL —
THE CRODA ROSSA — LANDRO AND THE DURREN SEE — THE DREI
ZINNEN — THE START FOR AURONZO — THE CHURCH OF THE CRUCIFIX
— PIEVE DI CADORE— THE HOUSE IN WHICH TITIAN WAS BORN — THE
CASA ZAMPIERI — AN INVASION — TITIAN'S FIRST FRESCO — THE ODIOUS
LITTLE GIRL — THE DUOMO — DON ANTONIO DA VIA — THE CADORE
TITIANS — THE FOUR TEMPERAS — A CURIOUS ANTIQUE PREDELLA.

G 2

CHAPTER V.
CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE.
The morning of the Sagro dawned to a prodigious
ringing of church-bells and firing of musketry. There
were masses going on in both churches from five a.m.
till mid-day. The long street and the piazza by the
post-office presented one uninterrupted line of booths.
There were hundreds of strangers all over the town ;
hundreds in the churches. Every house seemed
suddenly to have become an albergo. Every window,
every balcony, every doorway was crowded. The
acrobats again paraded Cortina this brilliant Sunday
morning about nine o'clock, and the discord of their
drums and trumpets went on all day long, to the accom
paniment of the church-bells and the intermittent firing
of the sharp-shooters down at the " Tir " by the river
side. What a motley crowd ! What a busy, cheerful
scene ! What a confusion of voices, languages, music,
bells and gunpowder ! Here are Austrian Tyrolese
from Toblach, Innichen, and the Sexten Thai, who
speak only German ; Italian Tyrolese from the Longa
rone side, who speak only Italian ; others from the

H2 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

border-villages who speak both, or a patois compounded
of both, which is quite unintelligible. The costumes of
these mountain-folk are still more various than their
tongues. The women of San Vito wear breastplates of
crimson or green satin banded with broad gold braid,
and ornamented with spangles. The women of the
Puster Thai walk about in huge turban-like head
dresses, as becoming, and quite as heavy, as the bear
skins of the Grenadiers. The men of Flitsch are lost
in their enormous black boots, modelled, apparently, on
those of the French postillion of the last century. Here,
too, are old women in home-made otter-skin hats, high
in the crown and ornamented like a footman's with a
broad gold band ; and bold Jagers with wide leather
belts, green braces, steeple-crowned hats, and guns
slung across their shoulders, looking exactly like Caspar
in " Der Freischutz." The wonderful damsels of Livi-
nallungo whom we met yesterday on the pass, are also
present in great force ; but the prevailing costume is of
course that of the Ampezzo. It consists of a black felt
hat with a bunch of feathers at the side ; a black cloth
skirt and bodice trimmed with black velvet or black
satin ; loose white sleeves ; a large blue apron that
almost meets behind ; and a little coloured handker
chief round the neck. Simple, sober, and becoming,
this dress suits young and old alike ; and the round hat
sets off a pretty face very agreeably.
Learning that the musical mass was to begin at
eleven a.m., we took care, as we thought, to reach the
church in good time ; but at a quarter before the hour,
we found the steps crowded outside, and barely standing

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE.

room within. The whole body of the church was one
mass of life, colour, bare heads and upturned faces.
Men and women alike held their hats in their hands.
Three priests at three different altars performed mass
simultaneously. The organist played his best, assisted
however, by the Cortina brass band with an effect that
was almost maddening. One trombone player in par
ticular, an apoplectic red-faced man in grey flannel
shirtsleeves, blew as if bent on blowing his brains out.
Now and then, when the organist had an unac
companied interlude, or the choir-master a few phrases
of solo, there came a lucid interval when one breathed
again. But these respites were few and brief;
and except during the sermon, the brass band that
morning had quite the best of it.
The old cure preached, attired in magnificent vest
ments of white and gold brocade. His sermon turned
upon Faith, and he illustrated his text oddly enough by
references to all kinds of matters in which Faith is not
generally supposed to bear a leading part. The
soldier, the artist, the lawyer, the man of science, what
could they do, he asked, without Faith ? Take the
soldier, for instance : — what is it that inspires him with
courage to face the cannon's mouth ? Faith. Take
the painter — judge what must have inspired the frescoes
and paintings in this very church : — Faith. Think of
the patience and labour required in the cutting of the
Suez canal ! What supported those workmen through
their trying task ? Faith. Look again at the Mont
Cenis tunnel ! Think of how those engineers began at
opposite sides of that great mountain, and at length,

H4 UNTRODDEN PEAKS £- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

after years of labour, met in the midst of it . To what
power must we attribute such perseverance crowned
with such success ? To the supreme and vivifying
power of Faith.
Of such quality was the good man's discourse. He
preached in Italian, and paused after every peroration
to mop his bald head with a blue cotton pocket-hand
kerchief. It was a hot day, and his eloquence quite
exhausted him.
Coming out of the church, we take a turn round the
fair. Here are booths for the sale of everything
under the sun — hats ; umbrellas ; pipes ; spectacles ;
pots, pans, and kettles ; tanned leather ; untanned
leather ; baskets ; wooden ladles ; boots and shoes ;
blankets ; home-spun frieze and linen ; harness ;
scythes ; tin wares ; wooden wares ; nails, screws and
carpenters' tools ; knives, forks and spoons ; crockery ;
toys ; crucifixes and prayer-books ; braces, garters,
pocket-books, steel chains, sleeve-buttons and stationery;
live poultry ; fruit ; vegetables ; cheap jewellery ;
ribbons ; stuffs ; seeds ; bird-cages ; and cotton um
brellas of many colours. Here, too, is a stall for the
exclusive sale of watches, from the massive silver turnip
to the flat little Geneva time-keeper of the size, and pro
bably also of the value, of an English florin. Near the
church-door stands a somewhat superior booth stocked
with mediaeval brass work, altar-candlesticks, patinas,
chalices and the like ; while, next in rotation, a grave-
looking old peasant presides over a big barrel full of
straw and water, round the top of which, in symmetrical
array, repose whetstones of all sizes.

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 115

It is remarkable that there are here no dancing or
refreshment booths. The sober Tyrolese do not often
dance, unless at weddings ; and for meals, those who
have not brought food with them, crowd at midday into
the inns and private houses, and there eat with small
appearance of festivity. Even the acrobats do not seem
greatly to attract them. A large crowd gathers outside
the show and almost fills the piazza in the afternoon ;
but not many seem to be going in. They are content,
for the most part, to listen to the comic dialogue sus
tained on the outer platform by the clown and Merry
Andrew, and prefer to keep their soldi warm in their
pockets. Now the writer, knowing from previous experience the
unpopularity of the sketcher, steals into corners and
behind booths, in order to secure a few notes of costume
and character ; but, being speedily found out and sur
rounded, is fain either to use her pencil openly or not
at all. The good people of Ampezzo, however, prove
to be less sensitive in this matter than the peasants of
Italy or Switzerland. They are delighted to be sketched,
and come round by dozens, begging to have their
portraits taken, and anxious that no detail of costume
should be omitted. One very handsome woman of
Livinallungo, tempted by the promise of a florin, came
home with me in order that I might make a careful
coloured study of her costume. She was tall, and so finely
formed that not even that hideous sacque and shapeless
bodice could disguise the perfection of her figure. As
I placed her, so she stood, silent, motionless, absorbed,
for more than half an hour. A more majestic face I

n6 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

never saw, nor one so full of a sweet, impenetrable
melancholy. Being questioned, she said she was twenty-
three years of age, and a farm-servant at Livinallungo.
" And you are not married ? " I asked.
" No, Signora."
"Nor betrothed?"
" No, Signora."
" But that must be your own fault," I said.
She shook her head.
" Ah, no," she replied, with a slightly heightened
colour. " Our young men do not marry without money.
Who would think of me ? I am too poor."
I should have liked to know more of her history ; but
her natural dignity and reserve were such that I felt I
must not question her farther.
The sketch finished, she just glanced at it, put back
the proffered payment, and turned at once to go. The
Signora was very welcome, she said ; she did not wish
to be paid. Being pressed, however, to take the money,
she yielded, more, as it seemed, through good-breeding
than from inclination ; and so went away, taking the
downward path from the back of the house, and going
home over the mountain, alone.
That afternoon, Santo Siorpaes came again, bringing
with him a tall, brown, fair-haired young man of about
twenty-eight or thirty, whom he introduced as " Signore
Giuseppe Ghedina." This Giuseppe, he said, was a
farmer, lately married, well-to-do, and a nephew of our
landlord of the Aquila Nera. Not being a professional
guide, he would nevertheless be happy to travel with
the Signoras, and to be useful to the utmost of his

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 117

power. He did not profess to know all the country
laid down in our scheme, but he would take Santo's
written instructions as to routes, inns, mules, guides
and so forth ; and he, Santo, did not doubt that we
should find Giuseppe in all respects as well fitted for
the work as himself.
Now Giuseppe's manner and appearance were par
ticularly prepossessing. We liked his simple gravity,
the intelligence with which he asked and answered
questions, and the interest with which he examined our
maps and guide-books. Preliminaries, therefore, were
soon settled. He was to inform himself thoroughly
upon all matters connected with the route, and to hold
himself in readiness to join us in a day or two. Mean
while it was agreed that we should pay him at the same
rate that we should have paid Santo Siorpaes : namely
two and a half florins a day for his wages, and one
florin and a half for his food — in all, about eight francs,
or six and eightpence English, per diem. If at any time
we were to travel by any public conveyance, we were of
course to pay his fare ; but all lodging and other
expenses en route were to be defrayed by himself.
It may here be observed, once and for always,
that a more fortunate choice could not have been
made. Faithful, honest, courteous, untiring, intelligent,
Giuseppe Ghedina, unused as he was to his new office,
entered upon his duties as one to the manner born, and
left nothing to be desired. Always at hand, but never
obtrusive, as economical of our money as of his own, he
was always thinking for us and never for himself. And
so anxious was he that the Signoras should see all that

n8 UNTRODDEN PEAKS £-" UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
was to be seen, that, when travelling through a district
new to himself, he used to take pains each evening to
enter in his pocket-book all such details as he could
pick up in advance respecting every object of interest
which might chance to lie in our way in the course of
the next day's journey. He remained with us, as will
be seen, throughout this Dolomite tour : and we parted
with mutual regret when it ended.
Numbers of those who had thronged the fair and the
churches all this day, went home the same afternoon or
evening. As long as daylight remained, they could be
seen dotting every mountain path ; and for hours after
all Cortina was in bed, their long wild Alpine cry rang
from hillside to hillside, and broke the silence of the
night. Next morning, however, there seemed to be as
many as ever in the fair, which was kept up throughout
the second day with undiminished spirit.
This second morning began with a wedding. The
order of the bridal procession was as follows. First
came the indefatigable brass band, numbering some
twenty performers ; then the bride and the best man ;
then the bride's father and mother ; then the bride
groom walking alone ; and lastly some fourteen or fif
teen friends and relations of both sexes. In this order,
they twice paraded the whole length of the town. The
bride wore a black alpaca dress ; the usual black cloth
bodice and white sleeves ; and a gorgeous apron of red
and green silk fastened behind with a pair of quaint
brass clasps. Neither she nor any of the other women
on this occasion wore hats ; but only an abundance of
silver pins in their neatly plaited hair. Having entered

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 119

the church, they all took seats in the aisle about half
way down, and the band went into the organ-loft.
Presently the bridegroom went up by himself to the
altar, and kneeled down. When he had knelt there a
few minutes, the mother of the bride led her daughter
up, placed her at his left hand, and there left her.
After they had both knelt there some five minutes
longer, the priest came in, followed by the old bell-
ringer, who acted as clerk. The bellringer then lighted
a pair of long wax tapers and handed them to the
priest, who blessed them, and gave one to the bride
and the other to the bridegroom. This was the begin
ning of the ceremony.
Then the priest read the marriage service in a low
voice and very quickly, only pausing presently to ask
for the rings, which were handed to him on a little glass
dish by the bellringer. The priest, having blessed the
rings, first gave one to the bridegroom to place upon
the finger of the bride, and then gave the other to the
bride, to place upon the finger of the bridegroom.
During all this time they never parted from their tapers,
but shifted them from one hand to the other, as occasion
required. At this stage of the ceremony, the bride
groom produced some money, and gave it to the bride.
They were then profusely sprinkled with holy water,
and this concluded the marriage service.
High mass was next performed, as yesterday, with
the full band and organ ; the newly married couple
remaining the whole time upon their knees before the
altar, with their lighted tapers in their hands.
At length, when all was over, and the congregation

120 UNTRODDEN PEAKS & UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
was about to disperse, the bridegroom got up quite
coolly and walked out of the church, leaving his bride
still kneeling. Then her mother came up again, and
led her away. The bridegroom, without so much as
looking back to see what had become of her, went and
played at bowls in the piazza ; the bride went home
with her parents, took off her finery, and shortly
reappeared in her shabby, everyday clothes. It is,
perhaps, Tyrolean etiquette for newly married persons
to avoid each other as much as possible. At all events,
the bridegroom loafed about with the men, and the bride
walked with her own people, and they were not once
seen together all the rest of the day.
One of the pleasantest excursions which we made at
this time was to Landro in the Hbllenstein Thai, about
twelve miles from Cortina by the Austrian post-road.""
On this occasion, our landlord supplied a comfortable
little chaise on good springs, with a seat in front for the
driver ; and the chesnut appeared in smart harness,
with red tassels on his head, and a necklace of little
jingling bells.
With Giovanni again to drive, we started early one
lovely July morning, following the course of the Upper
Ampezzo valley, skirting all the length of the Tofana,
and seeing its three summits in succession. Being so
long in the ridge, the great height and size of this
mountain can only be appreciated by those who see it
from at least two sides of its vast triangle — as from the
* An open omnibus now leaves Cortina daily at 630 a.m. for Toblach, re
turning the same afternoon. There is also a post omnibus. (Note to Second
Edition.)

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE.

Tre Sassi pass on the S.W., and from the high road on
the East. Good walkers with time to spare may
complete the tour of the mountain by ascending the Val
Travernanzes, which divides the Tofana ridge from
that of Monte Lagazuoi. The pyramidal peak on the
side of the Tre Sassi has been repeatedly ascended by
hunters from Cortina. The central peak was achieved
by Dr. Grohmann in 1863 ; and the north peak was
reached in 1867 by Mr. Bonney, who describes the view
looking over in the direction of Bruneck and the Gross
Venediger as one of the finest among the Eastern Alps.
The highest peak, according to the latest measure
ments, reaches as nearly as possible to 10,724 feet.
From Cortina, the road runs for some distance at a
level of about sixty feet above the bed of the Boita, and
passes presently under the shadow of a kind of barber's
pole painted with red and white stripes, which here juts
across the road at an angle of forty-five degrees. As
we prepare to drive under it, the door of a little hut
adjoining, which we had taken till now for a good-sized
kennel, flies suddenly open, and a small, withered,
excited old man flings himself into the middle of the
road, and demands forty-eight kreutzers for toll.
Becoming learned in the ways of the place, we soon
know that a white and red pole always stands for a toll-
bar, while a black and yellow one indicates the
boundary line between Austria and Italy..
From here, the road now begins to ascend and the
mountains to close in ; new peaks, snow streaked above
and wooded below, come into view ; and the great crag
of Peutelstein, once crowned by a famous mediaeval

122 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &¦• UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

stronghold, shuts in the end of the valley. The old
castle was levelled to the ground in 1867, and there is
some talk of a modern fortress to be erected on its site.
At this point, the road swings round abruptly to the
right, winds up through pine-woods behind the plat
form on which the castle used to stand, leaves the
noisy torrent far below, and, trending eastward at right
angles to the Ampezzo valley, takes, in local parlance,
the name of the Thai Tedesco — which, however, is not
to be found in either Mayr's or Artaria's maps. Here,
also, a board by the wayside informs us that we have
entered the " Distretta " of Welsperg.
And now the road leads through a succession of
delicious grassy glades, among pine-woods loaded with
crimson and violet cones, and festooned with the weird
grey-beard moss of the Upper Alps. Wild campanulas
and purple gentians, deep golden Arnica blossoms,
pink Daphne, and a whole world of other wild flowers,
some quite new to us, here bloom in such abundance
that the space of green sward on either side of the
carriage-way looks as if bordered by a strip of Persian
carpet. Meanwhile, through openings in the wood, we catch
occasional glimpses of great Dolomite peaks to right
and left, and, emerging by and by upon an open space
of meadow-land on the borders of which stands a tiny
farmhouse, we see the fine pinnacles of the Cristallino
(9,238 feet) rising in giant battlements beyond the
sloping ground upon our right. And now the road
crosses a rough torrent-bed, stony, and steep, and
blinding white in the sunshine. Here we alight and

MONTE CRISTALLO AND PIC POPENA.

[P. I25.

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 125

make our way across from boulder to boulder, while
Giovanni leads the chesnut in and out among the
shallows. And now, as we emerge from the pine-wood, a new
Dolomite — a huge, dark mournful-looking mountain
ominously splashed with deep red stains — rises sud
denly into towering prominence upon our left, and
seems almost to overhang the road.
What mountain is this ? For once, Giovanni is at
fault. He thinks it must be the Croda Rossa, but he is
not sure. Finding a mountain, however, here set down
in Mayr's map as the Crepa Rossa, and in Artaria as
the Rothwand, we are fain to conclude that it is in each
case the same, with only a difference in the name.
Unlike all other Dolomites that we have yet seen,
the Croda Rossa, instead of being grey and pallid, is of
a gloomy brownish and purplish hue, like the mountain
known as " Black Stairs," near Enniscorthy, in Ireland.
Going on in the direction of Schluderbach and looking
back upon the Croda Rossa, it constantly assumes a
more and more threatening aspect, rising cliff above
cliff towards one vast domed summit, just under which
is gathered a cluster of small peaks quite steeped in
blood-colour. From these, great streaks and splashes
of the same hue stream down the barren precipices
below, as if some great slaughter had been done there,
in the old days of the world.
Passing Schluderbach, a clean-looking road-side inn,
we come presently in sight of the Diirren See, a lovely
little emerald green lake streaked with violet shadows
and measuring about three-quarters of a mile in length.

126 UNTRODDEN PEAKS & UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Great mountains close it in on all sides, and the rich
woods of the lower hills slope down to the water's edge.

THE DREI ZINNEN.

The clustered peaks, the eternal snows and glaciers of
Monte Cristallo ; the towering summit of the Piz
Popena ; and the extraordinary towers of the Drei
Zinnen come one after the other into view. As for the

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 127
Drei Zinnen, they surpass in boldness and weirdness
all the Dolomites of the Ampezzo. Seen through an
opening between two wooded hills, they rise abruptly
from behind the intervening plateau of Monte Piana, as
if thrust up from the centre of the earth, like a pair of
tusks. No mere description can convey to even the
most apprehensive reader any correct impression of
their outline, their look of intense energy, of upward-
ness, of bristling, irresistible force. Two barren isolated
obelisks of pale, sulphurous, orange-streaked lime
stone, all shivered into keen scimitar-blades and shark
like teeth towards the summit, they almost defy the
pencil and quite defy the pen. For the annexed illus
tration, however, so far as mere truthfulness of actual
form goes, the writer can vouch, having sketched it
very carefully from the best point along the borders of
the lake.
At Landro,* a clean and comfortable .inn standing
alone at the head of the lake, we stayed to feed the
horse and take luncheon. Here we were served with
excellent cold salmon-trout from the Mesurina lake, and
hot cutlets. Everything about the place looked pro
mising. The landlord and landlady and their son, a
bright lad of about seventeen, spoke only an unin
telligible kind of German ; but were cheerfully disposed
and most obliging. Thinking that it might be a
pleasant place to put up at for a few days, we enquired
about rooms ; but every inch of the house was occupied
for the whole summer by a large party, chiefly English,
* Landro is the Italian name for this place, which in German is called
Hohlenstein. H 2

128 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6-> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
including a member of the Italian Club-Alpino. This
gentleman, followed by a gigantic St. Bernard dog,
came in while we were at luncheon, marvellously attired
in a brilliant scarlet flannel blouse and high black
riding boots ; in which costume, followed always by his
dog, he had that morning been up a difficult ice-slope
of Monte Cristallo.
Luncheon over, we strolled and sketched awhile
beside the fairy waters of the Diirren See — a lake into
which three torrents flow, and from which no stream
issues. Why it never overflows its banks, and whither
the surplus water vanishes, are mysteries for which
no one has yet accounted. There has been talk of
hidden clefts and natural emissaries in the bed of the
lake ; but it is obviously unlikely, to say the least of it,
that the supply and the drainage should be adjusted
with such nicety. Why, therefore, the Diirren See is
always full, and never too full, remains to be explained
by men of science.
Of the three great mountains seen from Landro, it
may be as well to mention that the Drei Zinnen *
(9)833 feet) has been lately ascended by various members
of the Austrian or German Alpine Clubs ; that the Piz
Popena (10,389 feet) was first achieved by Mr. E. R.
Whitwell ; and that the highest peak of Monte Cristallo
(10,644 feet) was gained by Dr. Grohmann in Sep
tember, 1865, from the Cristall pass, beginning on the
side of the Tre Croci.
Starting from the Diirren See, the road again turns
* Of the three peaks bearing this name, only two are well seen from
Landro ; but as one goes up the Val d' Auronzo, all three are visible.

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE.

129

northward, and so runs nearly straight all the way to
Toblach, a distance of about ten more English miles.
Looking up the vista of this narrow glen from Landro,
one sees the snow-capped mountains of the Puster
Thai closing in the view.
Returning to Cortina in the pleasant afternoon, we

NEAR CORTINA.

left the carriage at a point not far from the toll-bar,
and strolled homewards by a lower path leading
through fields and meadows and past the ruins of a
curious old turreted chateau, one tower of which now
serves for the spire of a little church built with the
stones of the former stronghold.
Meanwhile there yet remained much to be seen and
done before we could leave Cortina. We must see the

130 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Marmarole, hitherto completely hidden behind the Croda
Malcora ; and the Mesurina Lake, famous for its otters
and its salmon-trout. We must go over the Tre Croci
pass, and up the Val d' Auronzo ; and above all we
must visit Titian's birthplace at Pieve di Cadore. Now
it seemed, so far as one could judge from maps, to be
quite possible to bring all these points into a single
excursion, taking each in its order, and passing a night
or two on the road. In order to do this, we must follow
the Ampezzo valley to Pieve di Cadore * ; then take the
valley of the Piave as far as its junction with the Anziei
at Tre Ponti ; thence branch off into the Val d'Auronzo ;
and from Auronzo find our way back to Cortina by the
Val Buona and the pass of the Tre Croci. This route,
if practicable, would take us the complete circuit of the
Croda Malcora, Antelao, and Marmarole, and could
be done, apparently, nearly all the way by carriage road.
A consultation with old Ghedina proved that this plan
was feasible as far as a place called the Casa di San
Marco in the Val Buona, now accessible by means of
one of the new roads in process of construction by the
Italian Government. As to whether this road was or
was not actually completed as far as the Casa di San
Marco, he was not quite sure ; but he did not doubt
that the carriage could be got along "somehow."
Beyond that point, however, the new way had certainly
not yet been opened, and we, as certainly, could only
follow it as far as it went. He would therefore send
* There is now a post omnibus daily from Cortina to San Vito (Borca),
whence the Italian diligence can be taken to Pieve di Cadore. (Note to
Second Edition)

CORTINA TO PTEVE DI CADORE. 131
saddle-horses round by the Tre Croci pass to meet us at
the Casa di San Marco ; the carriage coming back by
way of a cart-track leading round by Landro. With
these saddle-horses we could then ride up to the
Mesurina Alp, and return by the Tre Croci to Cortina.
As regarded time, we could make our giro in either
three days or two ; sleeping in the one case both at
Pieve di Cadore and Auronzo, or, in the other, starting
early enough to spend the day at Pieve and reach
Auronzo in the evening. Having heard unfavourable
reports of the inn at Pieve, we decided on the latter
course.* The day we started upon this, our first long expedi
tion, was also the day that began Giuseppe's engage
ment as our travelling attendant. We rose early,
having ordered the carriage for seven a.m. — a roomy,
well-appointed landau, drawn by a pair of capital horses,
and driven by a solemn shock-headed coachman of
imperturbable gravity and civility. The whole turn-out,
indeed, was surprisingly good and comfortable, and
would have done credit to any of the first-class hotels we
had lately left behind.
The Ghedinas assembled in a body to see us off. L.'s
maid, mournful enough at being left behind in a strange
land, watched us from the balcony. The postmaster,
the chemist, the grocer and the cure, stood together in
a little knot at the corner of the piazza to see us go by.
* It would, of course, be easy to put up at Tai Cadore, where there is a
perfectly unobjectionable little hostelry, about one mile from Pieve di Cadore.
Persons intending to make a prolonged stay in the neighbourhood would
have to do this ; we, however, not liking the idea of turning back upon our
road, preferred pushing on to Auronzo.

132 UNTRODDEN PEAKS Gr> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
At last, bags, rugs, and umbrellas being all in, Giuseppe
jumped up to his seat on the box, the driver cracked his
whip, and away we went in the midst of a chorus of
" buon viaggios " from the lookers-on.
The first twelve or fourteen miles of road, as far as
Tai Cadore, lay over the same ground which we had
already traversed the day of our arrival at Cortina. At
Tai, however, we turned aside, leaving the Monte Zucco
zigzag far below, and so went up the long white road
leading to the hamlet on the hill.
About halfway between the two valleys, we drew up
at a little wayside church, to see a certain miracle-
working crucifix said to have been found in the year
1540 in a field close by, where it was turned up
accidentally by the plough. Without being (as some
local antiquaries would have it believed) so ancient as
either the time of the invasion of the Visigoths in a.d.
410, or that of the Huns in a.d. 432, the crucifix is
undoubtedly curious, and may well have been buried for
security at the time of the German invasion under
Maximilian in a.d. 1508. Since that time, it is supposed
to have wrought a great number of miracles ; to have
sweated blood, and so stayed the pestilence of 1630 ;
and in various ways to have extended an extraordinary
degree of favour and protection towards the people of
Cadore. The little church, originally dedicated to
Saint Antonio, is now called the church of the Santissimo
Crocefisso, and enjoys a high reputation throughout this
part of Tyrol. The crucifix is carved in old brown
wood, and the sacred image is somewhat ludicrously
disfigured by a wig of real hair.

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 133
We reached Pieve di Cadore about half-past eleven
a.m., delays included, and found the albergo quite as
indifferent as its reputation. It was very small, very
dirty, and crowded with peasants eating, drinking, and
smoking. Going upstairs in search of some corner
where we might leave our wraps and by-and-by take
luncheon apart, we found the bedrooms so objectionable
that we decided to occupy the landing. It was a com
fortless place, crowded with lumber, and only a shade
more airy than the rest of the house. A space was
cleared, however ; a couple of seats were borrowed from
a neighbouring room ; and the top of a great carved
cassone, or linen-chest, was made to serve for a table.
Having ordered some food to be ready by one o'clock
(it being now nearly eleven) we then hastened out to
see the sights of the place. The landlady's youngest
daughter, an officious little girl of about twelve, volun
teered as guide, and, being rejected, followed us per
tinaciously from a distance.
The quaint old piazza with its gloomy arcades, its
antique houses with Venetian windows, its cafes, its
fountain, and its loungers, is just like the piazzas of
Serravalle, Longarone, and other provincial towns of
the same epoch. With its picturesque Prefettura and
belfry-tower one is already familiar in the pages of Gil
bert's " Cadore." There, too, is the fine old double
flight of steps leading up to the principal entrance on
the first floor, as in the town-hall at Heilbronn — a fea
ture by no means Italian ; and there, about midway up
the shaft of the campanile, is the great, gaudy, well-
remembered fresco, better meant than painted, wherein

134 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Titian, some twelve feet in height, robed and bearded,
stands out against an ultramarine background, looking
very like the portrait of a caravan giant at a fair.
This picture — a gift to the Commune of Cadore from
the artist who painted it — is now the only mural
fresco in the town. Some years ago, one of the old
houses in the piazza, now ruthlessly whitewashed, is
said to have borne distinct traces of external deco
rations by Cesare Vecellio, the cousin and pupil of
Titian. Turning aside from the glowing piazza and following
the downward slope of a hill to the left of the Prefet
tura, we come, at the distance of only a few yards,
upon another open space, grassy and solitary, sur
rounded on three sides by rambling, dilapidated-looking
houses, and opening on the fourth to a vista of woods
and mountains.
In the midst of this little piazza stands a massive
stone fountain, time-worn and water-worn, surmounted
by a statue of Saint Tiziano in the robes and square
cap of an ecclesiastic* The water, trickling through
two metal pipes in the pedestal beneath Saint Tiziano's
feet, makes a pleasant murmuring in the old stone
basin ; while, half hidden behind this fountain, and
leaning up as if for shelter against a larger house ad
joining, stands a small whitewashed cottage upon the

* This picturesque little monument has now disappeared, having been
superseded in 1880 by a bronze statue of heroic size designed by a Venetian
artist named Del Zotto. It stands on a square pedestal, on one side of
which is inscribed "A Tiziano il Cadore,'' and upon the other sides are
enumerated the masterpieces of the great painter. (Note to Second Edition.)

TITIAN'S BIRTHPLACE.

[P. 134-

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 137
side-wall of which an incised tablet bears the following
record : — * Nel mcccclxxvii
Fra Queste Vmili Mura
Tiziano Vecellio
Vene a celebre Vita
donde vsciva gia presso a cento anni
In Venezia
Addi XXVII Agosto
mdlxxvi.
A poor, mean-looking, low-roofed dwelling, disfigured
by external chimney-shafts and a built-out oven ; lit
with tiny, blinking, mediaeval windows ; altogether un
lovely ; altogether unnoticeable ; but — the birthplace of
Titian !
It looked different, no doubt, when he was a boy and
played outside here on the grass. It had probably a
high, steep roof, like the homesteads in his own land
scape drawings ; but the present old brown tiles have
been over it long enough to get mottled with yellow
lichens. One would like to know if the fountain and
the statue were there in his time ; and if the water
trickled ever to the same low tune ; and if the women
came there to wash their linen and fill their brazen
water jars, as they do now. This lovely green hill, at
all events, sheltered the home from the east winds ; and
Monte Duranno lifted his strange crest yonder against
the southern horizon ; and the woods dipped down to
the valley, then as now, where the bridle-path slopes
away to join the road to Venice.
* In the (year) MCCCCLXXVII, within these humble walls Titian Vecellio
entered (upon) a celebrated life, whence he departed, at the end of nearly a
hundred years, in Venice, on the 27th day of August, mdlxxvi.

138 UNTRODDEN PEAKS S- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
We went up to the house, and knocked. The door
was opened by a sickly, hunchbacked lad who begged us
to walk in, and who seemed to be quite alone there.
The house was very dark, and looked much older in
side than from without. A long, low, gloomy upstairs
chamber with a huge penthouse fire-place jutting into
the room, was evidently as old as the days of Titian's
grandfather, to whom the house originally belonged ;
while a very small and very dark adjoining closet, with
a porthole of window sunk in a slope of massive wall,
was pointed out as the room in which the great painter
was born.
" But how do you know that he was born here ? " I
asked. The hunchback lifted his wasted hand with a depre
cating gesture.
" They have always said so, Signora," he replied.
" They have said so for more than four hundred
years." " They ? " I repeated, doubtfully.
"The Vecelli, Signora."
"I had understood that the Vecellio family was ex
tinct." " Scusate, Signora," said the hunchback. " The
last direct descendant of ' II Tiziano ' died not long ago
— a few years before I was born ; and the collateral
Vecelli are citizens of Cadore to this day. If the
Signora will be pleased to look for it, she will see the
name of Vecellio over a shop on the right-hand side, as
she returns to the Piazza."
I did look for it ; and there, sure enough, over a small

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 139
shop-window I found it. It gave one an odd sort of
shock, as if time were for the moment annihilated ; and
I remembered how, with something of the same feeling,
I once saw the name of Rubens over a shop-front in the
market-place at Cologne.
I left the house less incredulous than I entered it. Of
the identity of the building there has never been any
kind of doubt ; and I am inclined to accept with the
house the identity of the room. Titian, it should be
remembered, lived long enough to become, long before
he died, the glory of his family. He became rich ; he
became noble ; his fame filled Italy. Hence the room
in which he was born may well have acquired, half a
century before his death, — perhaps even during the life
time of his mother — that sort of sacredness which is
generally of post-mortem growth. The legend, handed
down from Vecellio to Vecellio in uninterrupted succes
sion, lays claim, therefore, to a more reliable pedigree
than most traditions of a similar character
The large old house adjoining, known in Cadore as
the Casa Zampieri, was the next place to be visited. It
originally formed part of the Vecellio property, and
it contains an early fresco, once external, but now
brought inside by the enlargement of the house, and
supposed to have been painted by Titian in his
youth. The hunchback offered to conduct us to this house,
and, having ushered us out into the little piazza, care
fully locked his own door behind him. Here, lying in
wait for us, we found the officious small girl with some
three or four companions of her own age, who imme-

140 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
diately formed themselves into an uninvited body-guard,
and would not be shaken off.
The hunchback rang the Zampieri bell ; but no one
answered. He knocked ; but the echo of his knocking
died away, and nothing came of it. At length he tried
the door. It was only latched, and it opened instantly.
" Let us go upstairs," he said, and walked straight
in. We followed, somewhat reluctantly. The body-guard
trooped in after us.
" This way," said the hunchback, already halfway up
the staircase.
" But the mistress of the house," we urged, hesita
tingly ; " where is she ? "
"Ah, chi lo sa ? Perhaps she is out — perhaps we
shall find her upstairs."
Again we followed. It was a large house, and had
once upon a time been handsomely decorated. The
landing was surrounded by doors and furnished with old
high-backed chairs, sculptured presses, and antique oak
chests big enough for two or three Ginevras to have
hidden in. Our guide opened one of the doors, led us
into a bare-looking kind of drawing-room, and did the
honours of the place as if it all belonged to him.
" Ecco il Tiziano ! " said he, pointing to a rough
fresco which, though executed on the wall of the room,
was set round with a common black and gold framing.
The subject, which is very simple, consists of only
three figures : — a long-haired boy kneeling on one knee,
and a seated Madonna, with the Child-Christ standing
in her lap. These are relieved against a somewhat

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 141
indefinite background of pillars and drapery. The
drawing of this group is not particularly good ; the
colouring is thin and poor ; but there is much dignity
and sweetness both in the attitude and expression of the
Madonna. The drapery and background have, how
ever, suffered injury at some time or other ; and, worse
still, restoration. A small picture which the lad
originally appeared to be presenting as a votive offer
ing, has been altogether painted out ; but its former
position is clearly indicated by the attitude of the hands
of the two principal figures.
According to the same respectable chain of local
tradition, Titian painted this fresco at the age of eleven
years. Mr. Gilbert, who knows more, and has written
more, about Cadore than any of Titian's biographers,
suggests that the kneeling boy is a portrait of the young
painter by himself; and that he " commended himself
in this manner to the Divine care " before leaving
home in i486, to become a pupil of Zuccati at Venice.
The hunchback entertained us, meanwhile with the
history of the fresco ; the body-guard stood gaping by ;
and the odious small girl amused herself by peeping
into the photographic albums on the table. In the
midst of it all, a door was opened at the farther end of
the room, and a lady came in.
To our immense relief, she seemed to take the
invasion as a matter of course, and received us as
amiably as if we had presented ourselves under the
properest circumstances. It may be that she is in the
constant habit of finding stray foreign tourists in forcible
possession of her drawing-room ; but she certainly

142 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
betrayed no surprise at the sight of either ourselves or our
suite. She showed us some old maps and engravings
of Cadore, a lithographed head of Titian, and some other
worthless treasures ; and when we rose to take leave,
asked for our cards.
" I value them," she said, " as souvenirs of the
strangers who honour me by a visit."
The hunchback now went back to his own home, and
we bent our steps towards the Duomo, always persecuted
by the irrepressible little girl who, now that the hunch
back had withdrawn, constituted herself our guide
whether we would or no, and had it all her own way.
She chattered ; she gesticulated ; she laid forcible
hands upon the sketching case ; she made plunges at
our parasols ; she skirmished round us, and before us,
and behind us ; and kept up a breathless rush of in
sufferable babble.
" The Signoras were going to the Duomo? Ecco!
They had but to follow her. She knew the way. She
had known it all her life. She was born here ! See,
that was the Prefettura. Would the Signoras like to go
over the Prefettura ? Many strangers did go over the
Prefettura. Yonder was the schoolhouse. She went to
school there. She was fond of going to school. Last
week she had a tooth out. It hurt dreadfully  oh !
dreadfully. It was pulled out by the medico. He lived
in the piazza yonder, nearly opposite the post office.
This little house here was the house of the Paroco. She
had an uncle who was a Paroco ; — not here, however.
At Domegge, up the valley. And she had an aunt at
Cortina ; and brothers and sisters — lots of brothers and

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 143
sisters, all older than herself. Her eldest sister had a
baby last week — oh ! such a little baby ; no longer than
that ! Would the Signoras like to see the baby ? Ah,
well — here was the church. The Signoras must come
in by the side door. The great door is always locked,
except on Saints' days and Sundays. The side door is
always open. This way — this way; and please to mind
the step ! "
It is a large church, quite as large as the Duomo of
Serravalle, unfinished externally, bare-looking, but well-
proportioned within. The chancel and transept are full
of pictures, some two or three of which are reputed
genuine Titians. None of these, however, though all in
the style and of the school of the great master, are so
strikingly fine as to declare their parentage at first
sight, like the great Titian of Serravalle.
It happened, fortunately for us, that the Paroco was
in the vestry. Hearing strange voices speaking a
strange tongue, he came out — a handsome, gentlemanly
little man of about forty-seven or fifty, with keen, well-
cut features, very bright eyes, a fresh colour, and silver-
grey hair. He at once entered into conversation, and
was evidently well pleased to show the treasures of his
church. His name and style are Don Antonio Da Via
(Don being probably a corruption of Domine, a parish
priest) ; and he has for fifteen years been paroco of this
his native town. In point of taste and education he is
superior to the general run of Tyrolean pastors. He
takes an eager interest in all that relates to Titian and
the Vecelli ; and he believes Cadore to be the axis on
which the world goes round.

144 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &° UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
The Titians in the church are two in number : —
one a large, life-size painting containing four full-
length figures ; the other an oblong, also a figure-
subject, half life size, and half length.
The first represents the Madonna and Child seated,
with S. Rocco standing on one side of the group
and S. Sebastiano on the other. S. Rocco points
as usual to the wound in his thigh. S. Sebastiano
stands in the traditional Peruginesque attitude, with
upturned face, hands bound behind his back, and his
body pierced with arrows.
The colouring has sadly faded ; the saints are not
very well-drawn ; the whole design is poor, the treat
ment conventional, the quality of the work early ;
and yet no student of Titian could look at it for five
minutes and doubt its authenticity. It is the figure
of the seated Madonna that stamps the work with
Titian's sign-manual. Here is the somewhat broad,
calm face, the fresh complexion, the reddish golden
hair that he delighted to paint his whole life long.
It was his favourite type of female loveliness — that
type which he developed to its ultimate perfection
in the gorgeous " Sacred and Profane Love " of the
Borghese gallery. Even the draperies of the Cadore
Madonna, although the crimson has lost its fire and
the blue has gone cold and dim, yet recall those
other glowing voluminous folds, so impossible, so
magnificent, which mark the highest ideal flight ever
yet attained in mere pieghi.
The present picture was doubtless executed while
Titian was yet a mere lad ; but at the same time it

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 145
bears internal evidence of having been painted after
he had seen Venice and studied the works of the
Venetian colourists.
Between this painting and the smaller one, there
reaches a great gulf of time — a gap of perhaps fifty
years. The first was the work of his boyhood ; the
second was the work of his age. He painted it,
most likely, and presented it to the church, during
one of his summer visits to his native hills. It
hangs in the Vecelli chapel — a chapel dedicated to
his own patron saint, S. Tiziano ; and in that chapel,
under that altar, it was his desire to have been finally
laid to rest. He died, however, as we all know, in
time of plague, at Venice ; and where he died, he was, of
necessity, buried.
This little picture, by which the Cadorini set
unbounded store, represents Saint Tiziano and Saint
Andrew adoring the Infant Christ, who lies in the
lap of the Virgin. S. Tiziano, supposed to , be a
portrait of Titian's nephew, Marco Vecellio, kneels
to the left of the spectator, in rich episcopal robes
of white and gold brocade. Saint Andrew (a portrait
of Titian's brother Francesco) crouches reverently
on the right. Titian himself, bearing S. Tiziano's
crozier, appears in attendance upon the saint, in the
corner to the left ; while the Virgin mother, according
to popular belief, represents the wife of the painter.
The Madonna here is indifferently executed ; but
the Child is brought out into fine relief, and the
flesh is well modelled, warm, and solid. The great
feature of the picture, however, is Saint Tiziano, 1 2

146 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
whose handsome, brown, uplifted face, Italian features,
rich Southern complexion, and rapt, devotional
expression, are in the master's purest style. The
white and gold brocade of the Saint's Episcopal
vestments and the subdued gold of his mitre, remind
one, for their richness and solidity of texture, of the
handling of Paolo Veronese. The head of Titian by
himself in the left corner may be said to date the
picture, and represents a man of perhaps sixty years
of age. The execution of the whole is very unequal —
so unequal as to suggest the idea of its having been
partly executed by a scholar. In this case, however,
the figures of S. Tiziano and the Infant Christ must
be unhesitatingly ascribed to the hand of the master.
Besides these two pictures, the treasures of Cadore,
the church contains several paintings by the brothers
and nephews of Titian ; amongst others, a Last
Supper by Cesare Vecellio ; a Martyrdom of St.
Catherine by Orazio Vecellio ; and, foremost in merit
as well as in size, four large works in tempera
originally painted upon the doors of the organ by
Marco Vecellio, the nephew who sat for the S. Tiziano
in the altar-piece already described.
These four paintings, said the priest, had been
lying for years, neglected and forgotten, in a loft
to which they had been removed when taken down
from' the front of the organ. It had long been his
desire to get them framed and hung in the church ;
and now, after years of waiting, he had only just been
able to carry out his design.
" A Tyrolean pastor has not many lire to spend on

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 147

the fine arts," he said smiling; "but it is done at
last ; and the Signoras are the first strangers who
have seen them. They have not been up longer
than three or four days."
These four pictures measured some sixteen feet
in height by about eight in breadth, and were mounted
in plain wooden frames, painted black and varnished.
The outside cost of these frames, one would fancy,
could scarcely have exceeded twenty lire each, or a
little over three pounds English for the four. But
Don Antonio had cherished his project "for years"
before he was rich enough to realise it.
The temperas may be described* as four great
panels, each panel decorated with a single colossal
figure. Of these, Saint Matthew and Saint Mark
make one pair ; the Angel of the Annunciation and
the Virgin, the other. With the exception of the
Virgin, which is immeasurably inferior to the others,
these figures are, far and away, the finest things in
Cadore. For largeness of treatment, and freedom
of drawing, the writer knows nothing with which to
compare them, unless it be the Cartoons at South
Kensington. The Angel of the Annunciation — bold,
beautiful, buoyant as if just dropt down from heaven
— advances on half-bended knee, with an exquisite
air of mingled authority and reverence. His head
and flying curls are wholly Raffaellesque. So is the
grand head and upturned face of Saint Mark on one
of the other panels, though sadly injured and
* See Crowe and Cavalcaselle's "Life of Titian," Vol. II., p. 493. whefe
these panels are attributed to Cesare Vecellio.

148 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
obliterated. The Angel and Virgin face each other
on either side of the transept, looking West ; while
Saint Matthew and Saint Mark occupy the same
relative positions just opposite. " The Angel," said
Don Antonio, " was too far separated from the
Virgin ; but that could not be helped, there being
no other place in the church where they could be
seen to so much advantage."
Having done the honours of the Sagrestia (which
contained several very indifferent old pictures, in
cluding a doubtful Palma Vecchio) Don Antonio led
the way up a narrow stone staircase to the Vestiario,
and there, as an especial favour, permitted us to see
some antique embroidered vestments and procession-
banners that had been in use on great occasions from
immemorial time. Much more interesting than these,
however, and much more curious, was a very ancient
carved and gilded Predella, or shrine, in the florid
Gothic style, surmounted by a dry, Byzantine-looking
Christ, and constructed with folding doors below, like
a triptych. The panels of these doors were decorated
outside with four small full-length paintings of the
Evangelists, in a clear, brilliant, highly finished
manner, the heads and general treatment recalling the
style of Sandro Botticelli ; while inside, the shrine con
tained four richly canopied niches each occupied by a
small carved and painted saint, very naive and medi
aeval, like little Cimabues done in wood. This Predella
belongs to a period long anterior to the Titian epoch,
and adorned the high altar up to the beginning of the
present century.

CORTINA TO PIEVE DI CADORE. 149
It was already long past the hour at which we had
ordered luncheon when, having thanked Don Antonio
for his courtesy, we again came out into the blinding
sunshine. The insufferable little girl had now, happily,
vanished ; but she turned up again as soon as we re
appeared at the Albergo, buzzed about us all the time
we were despatching our uncomfortable mid-day meal,
and was only driven off by help of Giuseppe when we
went out again presently to sketch and stroll about the
town and the castle hill for another couple of hours,
before pursuing our journey to Auronzo.

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA.

DOMEGGE AND LOZZO — THE LEGEND OF MONTE CORNON — TRE PONTI
—THE ANTIQUITY OF THE PIAVE — THE VAL D'AURONZO— NATIVE
POLITENESS — VILLA GRANDE AND VILLA PICCOLA — " L'ALTRO
ALBERGO" — AN UNPREPOSSESSING POPULATION— THE MARMAROLE—
A DESERTED SILVER MINE — THE NEW ROAD — DIFFICULTIES OVER
COME— VAL BUONA — THE "CIRQUE" OF THE CRODA MALCORA—
BASTIAN THE SOLITARY — THE MESURINA ALP — A MOUNTAIN TARN
— THE TRE CROCI PASS.

CHAPTER VI.
AURONZO AND VAL BUONA*
The view of Cadore upon which one looks back from
the bend of the road half a mile out of the town on the
way to Calalzo, and again from the Ponte della Molina,
about another mile farther on, is one of the finest of its
kind in all this part of Tyrol. At the same time, it has
in it very little of the Tyrolean element. Pictorially
speaking, it is a purely Italian subject, majestic, har
monious, classical ; with just sufficient sternness in the
mountain forms to give sublimity, but with no outlines
abrupt or fantastic enough to disturb the scenic repose
of the composition. In the foreground, we have the
ravine of the Molina spanned by a picturesque old
bridge, at the farther end of which a tiny chapel clings
to an overhanging ledge of cliff. In the middle dis
tance, seen across an intervening chasm of misty valley,
the little far-away town of Cadore glistens on its
strange saddle-back ridge, watched over as of old by its
castle on the higher slope above. Farthest of all,
* There is now a good road from Pieve di Cadore by Domegge and the
Tre Ponti as far as Bastian's cottage, whence the traveller, following our
route, turns aside for the pass of the Tre Croci. The new road goes from
Belluno to Innichen. (Note to Second Edition.)

154 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
rising magnificently against the clear afternoon sky, the
fine pyramidal mass of Monte Pera closes in the view.
For light and shadow, for composition, for all that
goes to make up a landscape in the grand style, the
picture is perfect. Nothing is wanting — not even the
foreground group to give it life ; for here come a
couple of bullock trucks across the bridge, as primitive
and picturesque as if they had driven straight out of
the fifteenth century. It is just such a subject as
Poussin might have drawn, and Claude have coloured.
At Domegge, about three and a half miles from
Cadore, we come upon a village almost wholly des
troyed a few months back by fire. It is now one mass
of black and shapeless ruin ; but it will not long re
main so, for the whole population, men, women, and
little children, swarm like bees about a burnt hive,
casting away rubbish, carrying loads of stones, mixing
mortar, and helping to rebuild their lost homes. New
foundations and new walls are already springing up,
and by this present time, a second Domegge has doubt
less risen on the ashes of the first.
Lozzo, the next village, about two miles farther up
the valley, was burnt down in just the same way a year
or two ago, and is now most unpicturesquely new, solid,
and comfortable. Perhaps to be burnt out is, on the
whole, the best fate that can befall the inhabitants of any
of these ancient timber-built hamlets ; for their dwell
ings are then replaced by substantial stone-built houses.
As it is, what with danger from fire and danger
from bergfalls, the smaller Tyrolean " paesi " are by no
means safe or pleasant places to live in, and may stand

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA.

comparison in point of insecurity with Portici, Torre
del Greco, or any others of the Vesuvian villages.
Now the road, which has been very bad all the way
from Cadore, slopes gradually down towards the bed of
the torrent, passing within sight of Lorenzago to the
right, and under the impending precipices of Monte
Cornon to the left. Mountain and village has each its
legend. Lorenzago, picturesquely perched on one of
the lower slopes of Monte Cridola, claims to be the scene
of the martyrdom of Saint Florian, a popular Tyrolean
saint, whose intercession is supposed to be of especial
efficacy in cases of fire ; while Monte Cornon is said to
derive its name from an incident in the history of Cadore
thus related by Mr. Gilbert: — " Along the slopes above
this gorge, in the war of 1509, a division of Maximilian's
troops was cautiously advancing, when the notes of a
horn (corno) broke suddenly from the misty mountain
side. It was but a casual herdsman sounding, as is
still the custom there at certain seasons, to warn off
bears ; but supposing themselves to be attacked by the
Cadore people, panic seized the invaders, and they fled
the way they came, over the Santa Croce pass to
Sexten." — Cadore, p. 92.
The same rustic horn, sounded for the same purpose,
may be heard here on quiet autumn evenings to this day,
what time the bears come prowling down to rob
orchards in the valley ; and it is remarkable that there
are more bears in the district about Monte Cornon,
Comelico, and the Gail Thai, than in any other part of
the Alps.
A little way beyond the village of Lozzo, we cross the

156 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Piave and continue along the left bank as far as its
point of junction with the Anziei at Tre Ponti — a famous
triple bridge consisting of three bold arches, each ninety
feet in span, and all resting on a single central pier. To
the left, winding away between richly wooded heights,
lies the valley of Auronzo ; while to the right, the Upper
Piave, its grey waters shrunken to half their previous
volume, comes hurrying down a bare and stony channel
from its source in the Carnic Alps.
And now, having tracked it for many a mile of its
long course since first we saw it widening across the
plain near Conegliano, we are to bid a last farewell to
the Piave. It was then not very far from its grave in
the Adriatic ; it is now about as distant from its cradle
in the fastnesses of Monte Paralba. A curious old
historical writer, one Dottore Giorgio Piloni of Belluno,
who evolved a dull book in a dull style just one hundred
and eighty-two years ago, speaks of the Piave not only
as the largest and most important, but also as the "most
ancient " river of the province, and seeks to identify it
with the river Anassum* mentioned by Pliny in his
chapter on the Venetian territory. He urges in proof
of its antiquity, the depth of its bed and the height of
its banks, "whereby," says he, "it may plainly be
proved that this Piave cannot be a new river, as in other
instances one sees may happen by intervention of
earthquakes and other accidents." The good Doctor
* " Nasce la Piave nelle Alpi Taurisane sopra quel paese che per essere
montuoso con greco vocabulo Cadore si chiama : si come il fiume ancora ha
preso da Greci il nome di Anaxo ; che vuole in quella lingua dire fiume che
per il corso siio veloce non puo esser all' indietro navigato." — Istoria di
Giorgio Piloni. Libro Secondo. Venezia, 1707.

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA. 157
when he wrote this had evidently never visited the scene
of the great bergfall in the gorge of Serravalle, or seen
the basin of the Piave at Capo di Ponte.
Taking the right bank of the Anziei, we now enter
the Val d' Auronzo. The bad road which began at
Cadore ends at Tre Ponti, and once more the horses
have a fine, new, broad post-road beneath their feet.
The sun by this time is dropping westward ; the trees
fling long shadows aslant the sloping sward ; the gnats
come out in clouds ; and the air is full of evening scents
and sounds. It has been a long day, and nearly twelve
hours have gone by since we started from Cortina in the
morning. How much longer have we yet to be upon
the road before we reach Auronzo ?
Being asked this question, the driver, whose polite
ness is such that it never permits him to give a direct
answer to anything, touches his hat with his whip-
handle, and replies that it is " as the Signora pleases."
(Come lei piace, Signora.)
" But how many kilometres have we yet before us ? "
He coughs apologetically. " Kilometres ! Con
rispetta, it is by no means a question of kilometres.
With horses like these, kilometres go for nothing."
" Ebbene ! — as a question of time, then : — how soon
shall we be at Auronzo ? In an hour ? In an hour and
a half? Before dusk?"
The driver shrugs his shoulders ; looks round in a
helpless way, as if seeking some means of escape ;
touches his hat again, and stammers : —
" Come lei piace, Signora ! "
Come lei piace ! It is the formula by which all his

158 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &= UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS

ideas are bounded. He has no opinions of his own.
He would die rather than express himself with decision
about anything. Ask him what you will — the name of
a village, the hour of the day, the state of the weather,
his own name, age and birthplace, and he will inevitably
reply: " Come lei piace." It is his invariable answer,
and the effort to extract any other from him is sheer
waste of breath.
The distance, however, proves to be only four miles.
In about half an hour from the Tre Ponti, we come to a
bend in the road, and lo ! there lies a large, rambling
village straggling along the near bank of the Anziei ; a
big mosque-like church with a glittering white dome ; an
older looking campanile peering above the brown roofs
at the farther extremity of the place ; and beyond all
these, a vista of valley threaded by a deep, dark torrent
fringed with sullen pine-woods. It is not the village of
Auronzo, however, it is not the valley, nor the torrent,
nor the pine-woods that make the beauty and wonder of
the view : — it is the encircling array of mountain
summits standing up rank above rank, peak beyond
peak, against the clear, pale, evening sky. Farthest
and strangest, at the remote end of the valley, rise the
Drei Zinnen, now showing distinctly as three separate
obelisks. A soft haze through which the sun is shining,
hangs over the distance ; and the Drei Zinnen, belted
by luminous bands of filmy horizontal cloud, look like
icebergs afloat in a sea of golden mist.
It is one of those rare and radiant effects that one
may travel for a whole summer without seeing, and
which, when they do occur, last but a few moments.

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA.

'59

Before we had reached the first cottages, the golden
light was gone, and the vapours had turned grey and
ghostly. Auronzo is divided into an upper and a lower village,
known respectively as the Villa Grande and the Villa

3***^

VALLEY OF AURONZO.

Piccola. Villa Piccola, which one reaches first on
entering from the Tre Ponti side, is a modern suburb to
Villa Grande. The houses of this modern suburb are
large and substantial, reminding one of the houses at
Ober Ammergau ; and some are decorated in the same
way with rough religious frescoes. To Villa Piccola
belong both the large new church with the dome, and
the albergo — a clean-looking house lying a little way

160 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
back from the road on the left hand, close against the
parsonage. Driving up to this inn, we find some four or five
chaises and carettini drawn up in front of the house ; a
knot of men and women gathered round the door ; faces
of other men and women looking out from the upper
windows ; and an unwonted air of bustle and festivity
about the place. The landlady, a hard-featured dame
in rusty black, standing at the door with her arms
a-kimbo, shakes her head as we draw up, and does not
give Giuseppe time to speak.
She cannot take us in — not she ! Couldn't take in
the King of Italy, if he came this evening. Impossible.
She has a wedding party from Comelico, and her house
is quite full. Ecco ! There is another albergo higher
up, in Villa Grande. We shall probably find room
there. If not ? — well, she can't say ! She supposes we
must go back the way we have come.
Giuseppe and the driver look blank. They mutter
something in low voices about " l'altro albergo ; " and
my ear detects an ominous emphasis on the " altro."
The landlady purses up her mouth ; the travellers in
possession (all in their gayest holiday clothes) survey us
with an insolent air of triumph ; the coachman gathers
up his reins ; and we drive on, quite discomfited.
With the scattered homesteads of Villa Piccola the
good road ends abruptly, and becomes a mere stony
cart-track full of ruts and rubble. Then, all at once,
we find ourselves in the midst of a foul, closely-packed
labyrinth of old timber houses, ruinous, smoke-
blackened, dilapidated, compared with which the

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA. 161

meanest villages we have as yet passed through are
clean and promising. Here squalid children shout,
and sprawl, and beg ; slatternly women lean from
upper windows ; and sullen, fierce-looking men loung
ing in filthy doorways stare in a grim unfriendly way as
the carriage lurches past. This is Villa Grande.
Another moment, and, turning a sharp corner, we
draw up before a bare desolate-looking house standing a
little apart from the rest, with a walled-off bowling
ground on one side, in which some six or eight men are
playing at ball, and a score or two of others looking on.
This is our albergo.
We look at Giuseppe — at the house — at each other.
" Is there no other place to which we can go for the
night?" we ask, aghast.
Giuseppe shakes his head. This and the inn at Villa
Piccola are the only two in the place.* If we do not
stay here, we have no resource but to go back to Tai
Cadore, a distance of at least fourteen, if not fifteen,
English miles.
At this crisis, out comes a tall, smiling, ungainly
woman, with an honest face and a mouth full of large,
shining teeth — an anxious, willing, cheerful body, eager
to bid us welcome ; eager to carry any number of bags
and rugs ; brimming over with good-will and civility.
She leads the way up an extremely dirty flight of stairs ;
across a still dirtier loft full of flour-sacks, cheeses, and
farming implements ; and thence up a kind of step-
ladder that leads to a landing furnished with the usual
* There are now three inns at Auronzo ; namely, the Albergo Alle Alpi, the
Alle Grazie, and the Vittoria. (Note to Second Edition.) K 2

162 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
table and chairs, linen press and glass-cupboard. Open
ing off this landing are some two or three very bare but
quite irreproachable bed-rooms with low whitewashed
walls, and ceilings about seven feet from the ground.
The floors, the bedding, the rush-bottomed chairs are
all as scrupulously clean as the lower part of the estab
lishment is unscrupulously the reverse. Carpets and
curtains of course there are none. What is wanting
in personal comforts is made up for, however, in the
way of spiritual adornments. The walls are covered
with prints of saints and martyrs in little black frames ;
while over the head of each bed there hangs a coloured
lithograph of the Madonna displaying a plump pink
heart stuck full of daggers, and looking wonderfully
like a Valentine.
Here, then, we may take up our quarters and be at
peace ; and here, upon the landing, we are presently
served with hot cutlets, coffee, eggs, and salad, all of
very tolerable quality. While this meal is in prepara
tion, we watch the players in the bowling ground.
Our driver, having attended to his horses, strips off his
coat and joins in the game. Giuseppe smokes his
cigar, and looks gravely on. By and by, the dusk closes
round ; the players disperse ; and we, who have to be
upon the road again by 8.30 a.m., are glad to go to rest,
watched over by our respective Madonnas.
Whether seen by evening grey or morning sunshine,
the upper village of Auronzo is as unprepossessing,
disreputable-looking a place as one would care to
become acquainted with either at home or abroad.
Rambling about next morning before breakfast, I saw

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA. 163

nothing but dirt and poverty under their least pic
turesque aspect. The people looked sullen, scowling,
and dissolute ; the houses overcrowded ; the surrounding
country not half cultivated. I afterwards learned that
the commune was poor, in debt, and over-populated ;
and that the inhabitants bore an indifferent reputation.
It was pleasant enough, at all events, to drive off
again in the cool, bright morning, our horses' heads
turned once again towards the hills.
And now, Auronzo being left behind, the scenery be
comes grander with each mile of the way. Every
opening gorge to right and left discloses fresh peaks
and glimpses of new horizons. The pine slopes, last
evening so gloomy, are outlined in sunshine this morn
ing ; and the torrent ripples along its bed of glittering
white pebbles, like a blue ribbon with a silver border.
The valley from this point looks like a cul de sac.
The road runs up to the foot of a great barrier of stony
debris at the base of Monte Giralba on the one side,
and there, to all appearance, ends abruptly ; Monte
Rosiana (locally known as Monte Rugiana) puts forth a
gigantic buttress on the other ; while the Col Agnello,
a wild pile of peaks not far short of 10,000 feet in height,
rises, an impassable barricade, between the two. It is
not till one has driven quite up to this point that the
valley, instead of being hopelessly blocked, is found to
turn off sharply to the left, narrowing to a mere gorge,
and winding round the western flank of Monte Rosiana.
Now, some little distance farther on, we pass the
desolate hamlet of Stabiziani, a cluster of half-ruined
cottages at the mouth of a wild glen leading to a

1 64 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

perilous and rarely-trodden pass behind the Col Agnello.
And now the road plunges all at once into a dense, fra
grant tract of pine-forest, musical with the singing of
birds ; pierced here and there by shafts of quivering
sunlight ; and all alive with little brown squirrels dart
ing to and fro among the pendant fir-cones. By-and-
by, a great cloven peak comes up above the tree-tops to
the left, shutting out half the sunshine ; and then a
broad glade opens suddenly in the wood, revealing what
looks at first sight like a range of new and colossal
mountains, the lower spurs of which are only separated
from us by the bed of the Anziei.
At this point the driver pulls up, and, turning half-
round upon his box, says with the exaggerated polite
ness of a Master of the Ceremonies in a provincial
Assembly Room : —
" Con rispetto, Signora — il Marmarole."
Being thus formally introduced to our new Dolomite,
we would fain achieve a better view of it than is possible
from this point. All we see of it, indeed, is a vast mass
towering up indefinitely beyond the pine-forest, and,
facing us, a huge slope of reddish brown earth piled
to a height of some five or seven hundred feet against
the mountain side. This slope of rubble, dotted over
here and there with wooden sheds, marks the site of an
extensive lead and silver mine, now abandoned ; and a
tiny hole in the face of the cliff above, no bigger ap
parently than a keyhole, is pointed out as the entrance
to the principal shaft.
So we go on, always in the green shade of the forest,
till we come to a little group of cottages known collec-

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA. 165

tively as the Casa di San Marco ; a name recalling the
old days of Venetian sovereignty, and still marking the
frontier between Italy and Austria. Here, there being
no officials anywhere about, we pass unquestioned
under the black and yellow pole, and so arrive in a few
moments at the opening point of the new government
road which old Ghedina had given us directions to
follow as far as it went.
This new government road, carried boldly up and
through a steep hill-side of pine-forest, is considered —
and no doubt with justice — to be an excellent piece of
work ; but old Holborn Hill with all the paving stones
up would have been easy driving compared with it. As
yet, indeed, it is not a road, but a rough clearing some
twenty feet in width, full of stones and rubble and slags
of knotted root, with the lately-felled pine-trunks lying
prostrate at each side, like the ranks of slain upon a
battle-field. No vehicle, it seems, has yet been brought
this way, and though we all alight instantly, it seems
doubtful whether the carriage can ever be got up. The
horses, half maddened by clouds of gad-flies, struggle
up the rugged slope, stopping every now and then to
plunge and kick furiously. The landau rocks and rolls
like a ship at sea. Every moment the road becomes
worse, and the blaze of noonday heat more intolerable.
Presently we come upon a gang of road-makers some
two hundred in number, women and children as well as
men, swarming over the banks like ants, clearing,
levelling, and stone-breaking. They pause in their
work, and stare at us as if we were creatures from
another world.

1 66 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

"You are the first travellers who have come up this
way," says the overseer, as we pass by. " You must
be Inglese ! "
At length we reach a point where the road ceases
altogether ; its future course being marked off with
stakes across a broad plateau of smooth turf. This
plateau — a kind of natural arena in the midst of an
upper world of pine-forest — is hemmed closely in by
trees on three sides, but sinks away on the left into a
wooded dell down which a clear stream leaps and
sparkles. We look round, seeing no outlet, save by
the way we have come, and wondering what next can
be done with the carriage. To our amazement, the
driver coolly takes the leader by the head and makes
straight for the steep pitch dipping down to the torrent.
" You will not attempt to take the carriage down into
that hole ! " exclaims the writer.
" Con rispetto, Signora, there is no other way,"
replies the driver, deferentially.
" But the horses will break their legs, and the
carriage will be dashed to pieces ! "
" Come lei piace, Signora," says the driver, dimly
recognising the truth of this statement.
We are standing now on the brink of the hollow, the
broken bank shelving down to a depth of about thirty
feet ; the torrent tumbling and splashing at the bottom;
and the opposite bank rising almost as abruptly beyond.
"Are we bound to get it across here ? " I asked.
" Con rispetto, yes, Signora. That is to say, it can
be sent back to Cortina all the way round by Auronzo
and Pieve di Cadore. It is as the Signora pleases."

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA. 167

Now it pleases neither of the Signoras to send the
carriage back by a round of something like forty-five
miles ; so, after a hurried consultation, we decide to
have the horses taken out, and the carriage hauled
across by men. Giuseppe is thereupon despatched for
a reinforcement of navvies ; and thus, by the help of
some three or four stalwart fellows, th'e landau is lifted
bodily over ; the horses are led across and re-harnessed ;
and, after a little more pushing and pulling, a rough
cart-track on the other side of this Rubicon is gained
in safety.
Yet a few yards farther, and we emerge upon another
space of grassy Alp — a green, smooth, sloping amphi
theatre of perhaps some eighty acres in extent — to the
East all woods ; to the West all mountains ; with one
lonely little white house nestling against the verge of
the forest about a quarter of a mile away. This
amphitheatre is the Val Buona ; that little white house
is the cottage of Bastian the wood-ranger ; yonder pale
gigantic pinnacles towering in solitary splendour above
the tree-tops to the rear of the cottage, are the crests
of the Cristallo. But above all else, it is the view to
the Westward that we have come here to see — the
famous "cirque " of the Croda Malcora. And in truth,
although we have already beheld much that is wild
and wonderful in the world of Dolomite, we have as
yet seen nothing that may compare with this.
The green sward slopes away from before our feet
and vanishes in a chasm of wooded valley of unknown
depth and distance ; while beyond and above this
valley, reaching away far out of sight to right and left ;

1 68 UNTRODDEN PEAKS a* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
piled up precipice above precipice, peak above peak ;
seamed with horizontal bars of snow-drift ; upholding
here a fold of glittering glacier ; dropping there a thread
of misty waterfall ; cutting the sky-line with all unimagi
nable forms of jagged ridge and battlement, and reach
ing as it seems midway from earth to heaven, runs a
vast unbroken chain of giant mountains. But what
mountains ? Familiar as we have become by this time
with the Ampezzo Dolomites, there is not here one
outline that either can recognise. Where, then, are
we ? And what should we see if we could climb yonder
mighty barrier ?
It takes some minutes' consideration and the help of
the map, to solve these questions. Then, suddenly, all
becomes clear. We are behind the Croda Malcora :
directly behind Sorapis ; and looking straight across
in the direction of the Pelmo, which, however, is hidden
by intervening mountains. The Antelao should be
visible to the left, but is blocked out by the long and
lofty range of the Marmarole. Somewhere away to
the right, in the gap that separates this great panorama
from the nearer masses of the Cristallo, lies the Tre
Croci pass leading to Cortina. The main feature of
the view, however, is the Croda Malcora ; and we are
looking at it from the back. Seen on this side, it
shows as a sheer wall of impending precipice, too steep
and straight to afford any resting places for the snow,
save here and there upon a narrow ledge or shelf,
scarce wide enough for a chamois. On the Ampezzo
side, however, it flings out huge piers of rock, so that
the Westward and Eastward faces of it are as unlike

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA. 169

as though they belonged to two separate mountains.
This form, as I by and by discover, is of frequent
occurrence in Dolomite structure ; the Civetta affording,
perhaps, the most remarkable case in point.
Having looked awhile at this wonderful view, we are
glad once more to escape out of the blinding sunshine
into the shade of the pine-woods. Here, by the help
of rugs and cloaks, we make a tent in which to rest
for a couple of hours during the great heat of the day ;
and so, taking luncheon, studying our books and maps,
listening to the bees among the wild-flowers and to
the thrushes in the rustling boughs overhead, we fancy
ourselves in Arcadia, or the Forest of Arden. Mean
while, the woodman's axe is busy among the firs on
the hillside, and now and then we hear the crash of a
falling tree.
The forester who lives in the white cottage yonder
comes by and by to pay his respects to the Signore.
His name is Bastian, and he turns out to be a brother
of Santo Siorpaes. He also has been a soldier, and is
glad now and then, when opportunity offers, to act as
guide. He lives in this lost corner of the world the
whole year round. It is " molto tristo," he says;
especially in winter. When autumn wanes, he pro
visions his little house as if for a long siege, laying in
store of flour, cheese, sausage, coffee and the like.
Then the snow comes, and for months no living soul
ventures up from the valleys. All is white and silent,
like death. The snow is as high as himself— some
times higher; and he has to dig a trench about the
house, that the light may not be blocked out of the

170 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

lower windows. There was one winter, he says, not
many years ago, when the falls were so sudden and so
heavy, that he never went to bed at night without
wondering whether he should be buried alive in his
cottage before morning.
While he is yet speaking, a band of road-makers
comes trooping by, whistling, and laughing, and
humming scraps of songs. They are going back to
work, having just eaten their mid-day mess of polenta ;
and their hearts are glad with wine — the rough red
wine that Bastian sells at the cottage for about three
kreutzers the litro, and which we at luncheon found
quite undrinkable.
" The place is full of life now, at all events," says L.,
consolingly. He looks after them, and shakes his head.
"Yes, Signora," he replies; "but their work here
will soon be done, and then it will seem more solitary
than ever."
The man is very like Santo, but has nothing of
Santo's animation. The lonely life seems to have
taken all that brightness out of him. His manner is
sad and subdued ; and when he is not speaking, he
has just that sort of lost look which one sees in the
faces of prisoners who have been a long time in con
finement. At two o'clock, we break up our camp and prepare
to start again. The polite driver, mindful of a possible
buono-mano, comes to take leave, and is succeeded by
the lad Giovanni, who has journeyed up from Cortina
to meet us with the promised saddle-horses. And now

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA. 171

our old friend the tall chesnut appears upon the scene
with the Pezze side-saddle on his back, followed by an
equally big black horse with the Ghedina saddle ;
whereupon, having Giuseppe and Giovanni in attend
ance, we mount and ride away — not without certain
shrewd suspicions that our gallant steeds are carrying
ladies for the first time. Big as they are, they climb,
however, like cats, clambering in a wonderful way up
the steep and stony slope of fir-forest that rises behind
Bastian's cottage and leads to the Mesurina Alp beyond.
Three quarters of an hour of this rough work brings
us to a higher level than we have yet reached, and
lands us on an immense plateau of rich turf hemmed in
on both sides by an avenue of rocky summits. Those
to the right are the Cime Cadino, or Cadine-spitzen.
Those on the left are the lower crags of the Cristallo
mass, above which, though unseen from here, towers
the gigantic Piz Popena. And this vast prairie-valley,
so high, so solitary, all greenest grass below, all bluest
sky above, undulating away into measureless distance,
is the Mesurina Alp.* As much perhaps as a thousand
head of cattle are here feeding in the rich pastures.
Presently we pass the " Stabilimento," or Vacherie as
it would be called in France ; — a cluster of sub
stantial wooden buildings, where the herdsmen live
in summer, making and storing the cheeses which
form so important an item in the wealth of the district.
* The word Alp is used here and always in its local sense, as signifying a
mountain pasture. It may be as well to remark at the same time that the
word " Col " stands in these parts for a hill, and is derived from Collis ; while
a mountain pass (called in Switzerland a Col) is here called a Forcella.

172 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
At length, when we have journeyed on and on, for
what seems an interminable distance, we come upon a
circular hollow in the midst of which nestles the Me
surina' lake- — a green transparent, tranquil tarn, fed as
we are told by thirty springs, and rich in salmon trout
and otters. The place is inconceivably still, beautiful,
and solitary. Dark rushes fringe the borders of the
lake, and are doubled by reflection. Three cows stand
drowsing in the water, motionless. Not a ripple dis
turbs its glassy surface. Not a sound stirs the air.
Yonder, where the vista opens Northwards, appear
the cloudy summits of the Drei Zinnen ; here, where
the grassy lawn slopes down to the water's edge, the
very sunshine seems asleep. The whole scene has a
breathless unreality about it, as if it were a mirage, or
a picture. Having rested here awhile, we retrace our steps the
whole length of the plateau, and then, dismounting,
strike across on foot over a long slope of bog and rock,
till we gain the mule-track leading by the Tre Croci
pass to Cortina. An easy ascent winding up and round
the edge of a pine forest, now carries us over the
shoulder of the Cristallo, which here assumes quite a
new aspect, and instead of appearing as one united
mass, divides into three enormous blocks, each block in
itself a mountain.
For a long way, the Eastward view still commands
the range of the Marmarole and the Croda Malcora.
Then by degrees, as we work round towards the West,
the Marmarole is gradually lost to sight, and the Mal
cora crags begin to show themselves in profile. At

AURONZO AND VAL BUONA. 173

last the summit of the pass is gained, with its three
crosses ; and all the familiar peaks of the Ampezzo
side rise once more in magnificent array against the
sunset : — to the left, the Pelmo and Rochetta ; to the
right, a corner of Monte Lagazuoi and the three
summits of the Tofana ; straight ahead the Bee di
Mezzodi, Monte Nuvolau, and, beyond the gap of
the Tre Sassi pass, the far-off snow slope of the Mar
molata. The road from here to Cortina, though not steep, is
long and rough — so rough that we are glad to dis
mount presently and finish the homeward journey on
foot. As we go down, a number of wayside crosses,
some rudely fashioned in wood, some of rusty iron,
attract our attention by their frequency on either
side of the path. They are monuments to the memory
of travellers lost in the sudden snow-storms which make
these passes so perilous in winter-time and spring.

CAPRILE.

IMPORTANCE OF CORTINA AS A DOLOMITE CENTRE— OUR DEPARTURE
FOR CAPRILE— THE " SIGNORA CUOCA '' AGAIN— CASTEL D'ANDRAZ—
FINNAZZER'S INN — THE UPPER VALLEY OF THE CORDEVOLE — A SUC
CESSION OF RAIN-STORMS — A CORDIAL WELCOME — CAPRILE — THE
GAME OF PALLO — AUSTRIANS AND ITALIANS — THE CIVETTA — THE
LAKE OF ALLEGHE — THE GREAT BERG FALLS OF 1 77 1 — THE RAPE OF
THE SIDE-SADDLE — THE COL DI SANTA LUCIA — TITIAN'S LOST
FRESCO — SUNSET ON THE CIVETTA.

CHAPTER VII.
CAPRILE.
The time at length came when we must bid goodbye
to Cortina. It was a place in which many more days
might have been spent with pleasure and profit. The
walks were endless ; the sketching was endless ; the
climate perfect. Still we had already overstayed the
time originally set apart in our programme for the
Ampezzo district ; we had made all the most accessible
excursions about the neighbourhood ; and with the
whole of that great Italian Dolomite centre that lies
beyond the Tre Sassi ridge yet unexplored, it was plain
that we could ill afford to linger longer on the Austrian
border. At the same time, Cortina, just because it lies upon
the border, is in danger of being too hastily dismissed
by travellers coming in from the Conegliano side. Mar
vellous as its surrounding mountains are, a stranger
is apt to conclude that they but open the way to
still greater marvels, and to regard the Ampezzo Thai
as only the threshold of Wonderland. Even Mr.
Gilbert, visiting Cortina for the first time in 1861, as
he himself tells, stayed only one night there, and never
L 2

178 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &• UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
ceased to regret the omission till another Tyrolean
tour enabled him to repair it. For myself, looking
back in memory across that intervening sea of peaks
and passes which lies between Botzen and Cortina, I
am inclined to place the Ampezzo Dolomites in the
very first rank, both as regards position and structure.
The mountains of Primiero- are more extravagantly
wild in outline ; the Marmolata carries more ice and
snow ; the Civetta is more beautiful ; the solitary giants
of the Seisser Alp are more imposing ; but, taken as a
group, I know nothing, whether for size, variety, or
picturesqueness, to equal that great circle which, within
a radius of less than twelve miles from the doors of the
Aquila Nera, includes the Pelmo, Antelao, Marmarole,
Croda Malcora, Cristallo and Tofana.
It was time, however, as I have said, for us to be
moving onward. A practised mountaineer would
doubtless find more than enough employment for a
whole season within this one area ; but we, who were
not mountaineers in any sense of the word, had now
done our duty very fairly by the place, and so (not
without reluctance) were bound to seek fresh woods and
pastures new. Nothing, in short, could have been
pleasanter than staying — except going.
Our next point being Caprile, it was arranged that
we should ride over the Tre Sassi pass and send the
luggage by caretta. Giuseppe, always economical,
proposed a second caretta for the Signoras, adding that
the char-road was " a little rough " on the side of
Caprile. We, however, had already found it more than
a little rough on the side of Cortina, and, being

CAPRILE. 179

impressed with a lively recollection of the horrors of
that drive, declined to pursue the experiment any
farther. Also, it was necessary to make sure of Ghedina's side
saddle. By taking horses and riding over the pass, we
should at least get it as far as Caprile. Possession, so
far, would be something gained. I am bound to
confess that beyond that point our intentions, though
vague, were decidedly felonious.
The morning was exquisite when we started. The
caretta went first, driven by our polite friend of the other
day, and we followed about half an hour later. The
procession consisted of two riding-horses (Fuchs, the
chesnut, and Moro, the black), a mule for the maid, the
two elder Ghedinas, Giuseppe, and Giovanni. The
Ghedinas were there to lead the horses when necessary,
and to bring them home to-morrow ; while Giovanni —
inasmuch as the mule's present rider had never before
mounted anything more spirited than a Sorrento
donkey — had strict orders to stay by that animal's head,
and never to leave his post for an instant. And indeed
a less inexperienced rider might well have been excused
a shade of nervousness, for the road was often steep,
and often skirted the brink of very unpleasant-looking
precipices ; while the promised "basta," destitute alike
of rail and pommel, proved to be neither more nor less
than a bundle of cushions and sheepskins strapped
upon a man's saddle, with no real support save a
stirrup. In this order, then, we finally started, taking our
former route in the direction of Falzarego, and casting

180 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
many a backward glance at the mountains we were
leaving behind us.
Arrived once more at the little Hospice, the " Signora
Cuoca " was welcomed with acclamations. Again,
leaving the public room for the use of the men, we took
possession of the padrona's bright little kitchen ; again
the eggs and butter, the glittering brass pan, the long
brass ladle and the big apron were produced ; and again
the author covered herself with glory. It may have
been the peculiar quality of the air on this particular
pass, or it may have been the result of an exaggerated
degree of self-approbation ; but those Falzarego eggs
did certainly seem, on both occasions, to transcend in
delicacy and richness of flavour all other eggs with
which the present writer ever had the pleasure, of
becoming acquainted.
It was our destiny to be overtaken by rain and mist
on the Tre Sassi. Before we left the Hospice, a few
uncertain drops were already beginning to fall, and by
the time we reached the summit, the Marmolata was
gleaming in the same ghostly way as before, through
fast-gathering vapours.
From this point, all is new. Skirting first the base
of Monte Lagazuoi, then of the abrupt crag locally
known as the Sasso d'Istria, we pass close above some
large unmelted snow-drifts, and so down into a steep
romantic glen traversed by a clear torrent " musical
with many a fall " and crossed every here and there by
a narrow bridge of roughly hewn pine trunks. Some
times, where there is no bridge, the water sparkles all
across the path, and those on foot have to spring from

CAPRILE. 181
stone to stone as best they may. Dark firs and larches,
growing thicker and closer as the dell dips deeper,
make a green gloom overhead. Ferns, mosses, and wild
flowers grow in lush luxuriance all over the steep banks,
and carpet every hollow. Gaunt peaks are seen now
and then through openings in the boughs, as if
suspended high up in the misty air. And ever the
descending path winds in and out among huge boulders
covered with bushes and many-coloured lichens.
And now, as we go on, the sky darkens more and
more. Then a light steady mist begins to fall ; the
mist turns to rain ; the rain becomes a storm ; and the
mountains echo back a long, low peal of distant
thunder. Meanwhile, the road has become very steep
and slippery, and the horses keep their feet with
difficulty. Then the glen turns and widens, and Castel
d'Andraz — a shattered, blank-eyed ruin perched high
upon a pedestal of crag — comes suddenly into sight.
Steep precipices skirt the ruin on one side, and upland
pastures on the other ; a green valley opens away
beyond ; and the grassy slope beside the bridle-path is
full of large wild orange lilies and crimson dog-roses that
flame like jewels in a ray of sunshine which breaks
at this moment through the clouds. Not even the
sheets of rain still pelting pitilessly down, can blot
out the wonderful beauty of the view, or reconcile
me to the impossibility of stopping then and there to
sketch it.
We ride on, however, for fully three-quarters of an
hour more, stumbling over wet stones and sliding down
steps hewn in the solid rock, till at length the little

1 82 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
hamlet of Andraz,* half hidden among trees and
precipices, and framed in overhead by a magnificent
fragment of rainbow, appears in welcome proximity
close beneath our feet. Another turn of the road, and
we are there. The men are wet through ; the horses
are streaming ; the rain runs in rivers off our waterproof
cloaks ; our umbrellas are portable gargoyles. In this
state we alight at the door of Finazzer's tiny hostelry and
" bin-aria " — a very small, clean, humble place ; where,
having taken off our wettest outer garments and dried
ourselves thoroughly at a blazing kitchen fire, we order
hot coffee and prepare to make the best of our position
till the sky clears again.
Never was there such a toy parlour as that into
which we are ushered on coming out of the kitchen !
It is all pine-wood — new, bright, fragrant, cinnamon-
coloured pine-wood, shining like gold. Walls, floor,
ceiling are all alike. And it is perfectly square, too, in
every way, like a beautiful little new box of Sorrento or
Tunbridge ware. You might have turned it up endwise,
or sidewise, or topsy-turvy, and but for the altered posi
tion of the door, I would defy the most sagacious archi
tect to find out the difference. Then the chairs, the
tables, the corner-cupboards, the clock-case, are all of the
same material : — everything in the room, in short, is pine-
wood, except the grate. There are certain toy-stalls in
the Soho Bazaar where, at the cost of a few shillings,
one may at any time buy just such wooden boxes full of
just such wooden furniture, in miniature.
* The castle and hamlet of Andraz are also known, and frequently called
by the name of Buchenstein.

CAPRILE. 183

By and by the rain ceases ; the clouds part ; the' sun
breaks out ; the horses are brought round ; and for the
third time that day, we again push on for Caprile.
And now, not far below this point, the valley of
Andraz debouches into the upper valley of the Cordevole
— the fairest and most sylvan we have yet seen ; a
valley less Italian in character than the Val d'Auronzo,
more Swiss than the Ampezzo Thai ; rich in corn,
maize, hemp, flax and pasture ; and bounded in the far
distance by great shadowy mountains patched and
streaked with snow, about whose flanks rent storm-
clouds drift and gather, like the waves of an angry sea.
That one of these is the Boe (which we come to know
hereafter as a bastion of the Sella plateau) and that
another is the Monte Padon, are facts to be taken for
the present upon trust. The Marmolata is also dimly
traceable now and then ; and presently a blurred,
gigantic mass so enveloped in mist as to show no
definite outline of any kind, is pointed out as the
Civetta. Meanwhile, the bridle-path, carried at an immense
height along the shoulder of Monte Frisolet, follows
every curve of the mountain — now commanding the
valley of Livinallungo to the north-west — now coming
in sight of a corner of the blue lake beyond Caprile to
the south — now winding along the face of an almost
vertical precipice — now skirting the borders of a pine-
forest — now striking across a slope of greenest pasture ;
and at every turn disclosing some new vista more
beautiful than the last. Tiny villages, some a thou
sand feet below, some a thousand feet above the

1 84 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &• UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
level of our path, are scattered far and wide, each with
its little white church and picturesque campanile. Some
times one, sometimes another of these, stands out for a
few moments in brilliant sunshine ; then, as the clouds
drive by, sinks away again into shadow. These vivid
alternating passages of light and shade, followed by the
intense gloom of another gathering storm now coming
rapidly up from the valleys behind the Marmolata,
altogether defy description.
And now, anxious if possible to escape another
drenching, we hurry on, stared at by all who meet us,
as if no such cavalcade had ever before found its way
along this mountain track. Passing presently through
the little village of Collaz, we attract the whole po
pulation to their doors and windows ; and two very
old priests, standing by the church door, pull off their
hats and bow to the ground as we ride by.
Then, as before, a light mist begins to fall, and turns
presently to a heavy rainstorm which becomes heavier
the longer it lasts. Then, too, the path gets steep
and stony, and the horses, which have for some time
been showing signs of fatigue, slip and stumble at every
step. As for the black, being frightened by a flash of
very vivid lightning, he becomes suddenly restive, and
all but carries the writer at a single bound into the
gulf below. Hereupon we dismount and, letting the
horses go down by the road, make our way in rain,
wind, thunder and lightning, down a narrow zigzag
path at the bottom of which, some 300 feet below,
appear the roofs and the church-spire of Caprile.
The Pezzes had given us up hours ago ; but seeing

CAPRILE. 185
our wretched little party coming along the village
street, drenched, draggled, and miserable, rush down in
a body to meet and welcome us on the threshold — old
Signora Pezze, gentle and cordial ; young Signora
Pezze, still with a rose in her hair ; the two sons whom
we already know, and all the helps and hangers-on of
the establishment. The men and horses arrive close
upon our heels ; but the caretta, left behind long since
upon the road, never appears till some two hours later,
having turned quite over on the edge of a precipice and
deposited all our bags and rugs at the bottom of a steep
and muddy gulley, from which they were with difficulty
recovered. Meanwhile a good fire is quickly lighted ; wet cloth
ing is taken to the kitchen to be dried ; a hot supper is
put in preparation ; and all the discomforts of the
journey are forgotten.
The Pezze's is a large old rambling stone house,
and consists, in fact, of three houses thrown into one.*
The floors are some of stone and some of wood ; the
rooms are at all sorts of levels ; the windows are very
small, and full of flowers. An old metal sign — as old,
apparently, as the days of the Falieri — swings at the
corner outside ; and a balcony of antique Italian
wrought iron juts out over the doorway. The public
room on the first floor is pannelled with oak and
contains a fine carved ceiling ; while the landings, as
usual, are arranged as places to dine in. A set of
rooms, however, including the unwonted luxury of a
* This well-remembered old house is now closed, and a new hotel, the
Albergo delle Alpi, has been erected at the S. end of the village.

1 86 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &° UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
comfortable private sitting-room, were assigned to us
on the second floor ; and these we retained during all
the time that we made Caprile our head-quarters. In
the sitting-room we had a sofa, a round table, a cheffo-
nier, and even a bookcase containing Guicciardini's
History of Italy, and a Teatro Francese in thirty
volumes. Here also were Ball's Guide-books, and
Gilbert's " Dolomite Mountains " presented to Signora
Pezze by the authors. On the walls, amid a variety of
little framed prints and photographs, we found portraits
of F. F. T., and his sisters ; in the visitors' book, the
handwriting of J. A. S., of the N's, of the W's and of
other friends who had passed ^by in foregoing years.
The place, in short, was warm with pleasant memories.
No wonder that it seemed like home from the first, and
was home, while it lasted.
At Caprile, the traveller finds himself again in Italy.
Coming down on foot in the pelting storm, we had
crossed the frontier, it seemed, a little way above the
zigzag. The village is but just over the border ; and
yet the houses and the people are as thoroughly Italian
as if buried alive in the heart of the Apennines. It lies
in a deep hollow at the foot of four mountains and at
the junction of four valleys. The four mountains are
the Monte Frisolet, the Monte Migion, the Monte
Pezza, and the Monte Fernazza, locally known as the
Monte Tos. The four valleys are the Val di Livinal
lungo, the Val Fiorentino, the Val Pettorina, and the
Val d'Alleghe, or Cordevole. Each of the first three of
these valleys (to say nothing of a fourth and apparently
nameless tributary coming down a rocky glen behind

CAPRILE.

187

the village) brings its torrent to swell the flood of the
Cordevole, which, a couple of miles lower down, flows
southward through the lake of Alleghe on its way to
join the Piave in the Val di Mel.
The village, murky and unprepossessing at first

VENETIAN LION AT CAPRILE.

sight, consists of one straggling street partly built upon
arches. The church (which is in nowise remarkable,
unless for the decorations of the organ-loft, on which is
profanely painted a medallion head of the Apollo Bel
vedere surrounded by bouquets of flutes, fiddles and
tambourines) is situate on a rising ground near the
foot of the zigzag. At the farther end of the village on
the side of Alleghe stands the column of St. Mark,

188 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &° UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
commemorative of the old time when Caprile, like
Cadore, owned the sovereignty of the Doge and the
Council of Ten. The Venetian lion on the top — a
battered mediaeval bronze — was robbed some years ago
of his wings, and the commune has talked of replacing
them ever since. A carved shield on the front of the
column is charged with the arms of Caprile, and beneath
it a square stone tablet bears the following inscription : —
SCIPIONI . BENZONO . PATS . VEN^ . SER.' . SENATI .
VENE . COMISS . SUPER . FINIBUS . BENEFICENTISS .
CAPRILENSES . AERE . PVB. POS . ANNO . MDCIX.
The little piazza in which this roadside monument
stands is called the Contrada di San Marco. The
torrent runs close behind it on the one side ; the Inter
national Dogana overlooks it on the other. In this
open space, the young men of the village play at Pallo
all day long. To a looker-on, this game which in
summer forms the absorbing occupation of half the
middle-class youth of Italy, would seem to be governed
by no laws whatever, but to consist simply in tossing
the ball from player to player. They use no bats ; they
mark off no boundaries ; they make no running. Their
interest in it, however, and their excitement, are un
bounded. They begin immediately after breakfast and
go on till dusk ; and when they are not playing, they
are smoking cigarettes and looking on.
The Italians and Austrians profess now-a-days to be
the best friends in the world, especially at these little
frontier posts where they are brought into perpetual
contact ; but I observed that the young men of Caprile,

CAPRILE.

189

although their favourite playing-ground lay just under
the windows of the Dogana, never invited the Austrian
soldiers to take part in the game. These latter, stand
ing about with their hands in their pockets, or sitting
on the steps of the column, watched the players in a

»,>p

2H3^ft^3^

MONTE CIVETTA.
melancholy way, and looked as if they found lite dull at
Caprile. The first sight that one goes out of doors to see is,
of course, the Civetta ; the first walk or drive one takes
is to the lake of Alleghe. As they both lie in the same
direction, and as the best view of the mountain is
gained from the road leading to the lake, if not from
the actual borders of the lake, most of the few travellers

ico UNTRODDEN PEAKS &° UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
who come this way content themselves with despatching
both in a single morning, and then believe that they
have " done " Caprile.
The grand facade of the Civetta — a sheer, magnificent
wall of upright precipice, seamed from crown to foot
with thousands of vertical fissures, and rising in a
mighty arch towards the centre — faces to the north
west, looking directly up the Cordevole towards Caprile,
and filling in the end of the valley as a great organ-
front fills in the end of a Cathedral aisle. Towards
evening, it takes all the glow of the sunset. In the
morning, while the sun is yet low in the east, it shows
through a veil of soft blue shade, vague and unreal as a
dream. It was thus that I first saw it. I had gone
rambling out through the village before breakfast, and
suddenly the Civetta rose up before me like a beautiful
ghost, draped in haze against a background of light. I
thought it then, for simple breadth and height, for sym
metry of outline, for unity of effect, the most ideal and
majestic-looking mountain I had ever seen ; and I think
so still.
The lake of Alleghe lies about two miles S.S.E. of
Caprile, in a green amphitheatre at the foot of the
Civetta, the Monte Pezza, and the Monte Fernazza.
The way to it lies along the left bank of the Cordevole,
which here flows in a broad, strong current, and is
bordered on the side of the char-road by a barren,
pebbly tract sparsely overgrown with weeds and bushes.
The river is dark, and deep, and brown ; the lake,
which is but an expansion of the river, is of a wonderful
greenish blue — sapphire streaked with emerald. The

CAPRILE.

191

river is always rushing on at a headlong, irresistible
pace ; the lake, except when the wind sweeps straight
up the valley, is as placid as a sheet of looking-glass.
The river — an aggregate of many tributaries— is as old,
probably, as the mountains whence its many sources
flow ; the lake is new — a thing of yesterday. For a
hundred years are as yesterday in the world's history,
and where the lake of Alleghe now mirrors the clouds
and the mountains, there were orchards and cornfields,
farms and villages, only one hundred and two years ago.
A great bergfall from the Monte Pezza — or rather two
successive bergfalls — caused all this ruin, and created
all this beauty. These terrible catastrophes, as all
travellers know, are common to mountain countries ;
but among the Dolomite valleys, the bergfalls seem to
have occurred, and seem still to occur, with greater
frequency and on a more tremendous scale than else
where. You cannot walk or drive for ten miles in any
direction without coming upon some such scene of ruin.
It may have happened last year ; or ten, or fifty, or a
hundred years ago ; or it may have happened in pre
historic ages. Your guide in general knows nothing
about it. You ask him when it happened. He shrugs
his shoulders, and answers "Chi lo sa?" But there,
at all events, lie the piled rocks with their buried secrets,
and often there is no outward difference to show which
fell within the memory of man, and which before the
date of man's creation.
The history of the lake of Alleghe has, however, been
handed down with unusual accuracy. The date of the
calamity, and the extent of the damage done, are re-
M

192 UNTRODDEN PEAKS S- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
gistered in certain parish books and municipal records ;
and these again are supplemented by deeds and papers
preserved by private families in the villages round about.
Most of these families, and among them the Pezzes
of Caprile, can tell of ancestors whose houses and
lands were buried in the great fall of 1771.
This was how it happened : —
The Monte Pezza, of which I shall have more to say
hereafter, lies to the West of the lake, being the largest
of the four mountains already mentioned as surround
ing the hollow in which Caprile is built. Northwards,
it breaks away in abrupt precipices, culminating in a
fine rocky summit some 8,000 feet above the level of
the sea ; but on the side nearest the lake, it slopes down
in a succession of rich woods, pastures, and picturesque
ravines. Skirting the opposite shore, one sees a vast,
treacherous, smooth-looking slope of slatey rock, like
a huge bald patch, extending all along the crest of
the ridge on this side. It was from thence the fall
came ; it was this crest that slid away, slowly at
first, and then with terrible swiftness, down into the
valley. The first disaster happened in the month of January,
1771. A charcoal-burner, it is said, who had been at
work up in the woods, came down towards close of day,
white and breathless, calling on those in the plain to
save themselves, for the mountain was moving. A
swift runner with the fear of death behind him, he fled
from village to village, raising the cry as he went. But
no one believed him. There were four villages then
where now there is the lake. Incredulous of danger,

CAPRILE. 193

the people of those four villages went to bed that
evening as usual, and in the dead of night, the whole
side of the mountain came down with a mighty rush
and overwhelmed the sleepers, not one of whom es
caped. Two of the villages were buried, and two were
drowned ; for the waters of the Cordevole, driven sud
denly back, spread out as in the case of the Piave,
and formed the lake as we now see it. The two buried
hamlets lay close under the foot of the mountain at the
Southern end of the basin, where the great masses of
debris now lie piled in huge confusion. Alleghe, the
chief place of the district, was situate somewhere
about the middle of the lake, and is wholly lost to
sight. The fourth village stood on a slope at the
North end, close against that point where the Cordevole
now flows into the lake.
Four more months went by; and then, on the 21st of
May, there came a second downfall. This time the
waters of the lake were driven up the valley with
great violence, and destroyed even more property than
before. In the little village which is now called
Alleghe, and has been so called ever since the first
Alleghe was effaced, the whole East end and choir of
the present church were swept away, and the organ
was carried to a considerable distance up the glen.
At the same moment — for the whole lake seems to have
surged up suddenly, as one wave — a tree was hurled in
through the window of the room in which the cure
was sitting at dinner, and the servant waiting upon
him was killed on the spot. The choir has been re
built since then ; and the organ, repaired and replaced, M 2

194 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &° UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
does duty to this day. No monument or tablet, so far
as I could learn, has ever been erected to the memory
of those who perished in these two great disasters ; but
a catafalque is dressed, and candles are lighted, and a
solemn commemorative mass for the souls of the lost
and dead is performed in the church at Alleghe on the
2 ist of May in every year.
We had been told that in winter, when the lake was
frozen and the ice not too thick, and in summer on very
calm days, the walls and roofs of one of the submerged
villages might yet be seen, like the traditional towers of
the drowned city of Lyonesse, far down below the sur
face of the water. An oven and a flight of stone steps,
according to one of the young Pezzes, were distinctly
visible ; to say nothing of other less credible stories.
At length, one delicious, idle, sunny afternoon, having
nothing of importance to do elsewhere, we took a boat
and went out upon the lake, just to test the truth of
these traditions with our own eyes. Not a breath
stirred when we started from Caprile ; but by the time
the boat was found and we were embarked in it, a light
breeze had sprung up, and the whole surface of the
water was in motion. Every moment, the breeze
freshened and the ripple grew stronger. The withered
little old woman and the rosy-cheeked girl who were
rowing, bent to their oars and pulled with all their
might ; but, having crossed the debouchure of the
river, declared themselves unable to pull us round the
headland. The water by this time was quite rough,
and we landed at the nearest point with difficulty.
Scrambling up and along the bank for some distance,

CAPRILE. 195
we came presently to a kind of little promontory from
whence, notwithstanding the roughness of the surface,
we could distinctly trace a long reach of wall and some
three or four square enclosures — evidently the substruc
tures of several houses.
"If it had been smooth enough and we could have
rowed over yonder," said the old woman, pointing
towards a more distant reach, " the Signoras might
have seen houses with their roofs still on and their
chimneys standing. They are all there — deep, deep
down ! "
" Have you yourself seen them ? " I asked.
" Seen them ? Eh, signora, I have seen them with
these eyes, hundreds of times. Dio mio ! there are
those in Alleghe who have seen stranger sights than I.
There are those living who have seen the old parish
church with its belfry, all perfect, out yonder in the
middle of the lake, where it is deep water. There are
those living" (here her voice dropped to an awe-struck
whisper) "who have heard the bells tolling under the
water at midnight for the unburied dead ! "
I have told the story of this little expedition out of
its due place, in order to bring under one head all that
I succeeded in gleaning at various times about the
great bergfall of 1771. It certainly did not come off till
we had been established for some two or three weeks at
Caprile, and had once or twice been absent upon dis
tant excursions.
Our first day at the Pezze's was spent in strolling
about the neighbourhood, and seeing after mules. Also
in getting rid of the two Ghedinas, who were returning

196 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &r- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
to Cortina with their horses, but not, if we could help
it, with their side-saddle. How this delicate and diffi
cult matter was at last negotiated matters little now.
Enough that, being simple men with but few words at
command, they were ultimately talked out of their con
victions, and so departed — leaving the precious object
behind them. We promised of course to pay for the
hire of it ; we promised to return it as soon as we
succeeded in getting another ; we promised everything
possible and impossible, and were crowned with that
success which is not always the reward of virtue.
" The Padre will be furious with us," said the
younger brother somewhat ruefully, as he pocketed his
buona-mano and turned to leave the room.
It occurred to me that this was highly probable, and
that Ghedina pere might not be altogether a pleasant
person to deal with under those circumstances.
The poor fellows went away with evident reluctance,
followed by Giovanni and the mule. We watched them
down the street, and only breathed freely when they
were fairly out of sight.
That same afternoon, having engaged the exclusive
services of a local guide and a couple of mules for as
long and as often as we might require them during our
sojourn in these parts, we walked to the Col di Santa
Lucia, a famous point of view in the neighbouring Val
Fiorentino. Our way thither lay up yesterday's zigzag
—a damp, muddy groove wriggling up the face of a
steep hillside, about as pleasant to walk in as a marrow-
spoon, and not much wider. Once arrived at the top,
we left the valley of Andraz upon the left, and turned

CAPRILE. 197

off towards the right — still, as yesterday, winding
along the great pine-slopes of Monte Frisolet, but
following the Eastward instead of the Westward face of
the mountain.
It was uphill nearly all the way. Giuseppe, however,
had provided two stout alpenstocks of his own cutting,
and with this good help we pushed forward rapidly.
The path lay half in shade and half in sunshine, com
manding now a peep into the depths of the valley
below; now a view of the great "slide"* on the
opposite shoulder of Monte Fernazza ; and now a back
ward glimpse of the Civetta seen above a crowd of
intervening hill-tops. Thus at the end of a long pull of
rather less than an hour and a half, we found ourselves
some 1,500 feet above the level from which we had
started, and close upon the Col di Santa Lucia — a
curious saddle-backed hill like a lion couchant, keeping
guard just at the curve of the Val Fiorentino. His
neck is crested with a straggling line of Swiss-looking
wooden houses, and his head is crowned by a picturesque
little white church. He looks straight down towards
the Pelmo, which closes the end of the valley magnifi
cently, like a stupendous castle with twin-towers
reaching to the clouds. One would like to know what
demi-god piled those bastions ; and why the lion
crouched there, waiting for ever to spring upon him
* A mountain " slide " is sometimes (as in the case of the famous slide at
Alpnach) a scientifically constructed incline paved with pine-trunks, down
which the felled timber from the upper forests is shot into the valley without
the labour and expense of transport. The slide of Monte Fernazza, however,
is a mere forest-clearing about 40 feet in width and 800 or 900 in length,
carried down the face of an almost perpendicular hill-side.

198 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

when he should venture out from his stronghold ; and if
he is still imprisoned in the heart of the mountain.
But the answer to these questions would have to be
sought in the cloudland of uncreated myths.
Followed by all the children in the place, we made
our way into the churchyard, and there, at the extreme
end of the little promontory, sat upon the wall to enjoy
the view. A glance at the map showed that the
Ampezzo Thai lay just beyond the Pelmo, and that we
were now looking at the mountain from exactly the
reverse side. Seen from over yonder, it had resembled
a mighty throne ; from here, as I have said, it showed
as two enormous towers, tawny against the deep blue of
the sky. A little white cloud resting lightly against the
top of the farthest tower looked like a flag of truce
floating from the battlements. Farther to the left, the
curved beak of the Antelao, like the prow of a Roman
galley, peeped out, faint and distant, above a bank of
gathering cumulus. The Val Fiorentino, green and
sunny and sprinkled with white villages, opened up, like
a beautiful avenue, to the very foot of the Pelmo ; while
northward, the valley of Codalunga met the descending
slopes of Monte Gusella, and showed a streak c-f
winding path leading down from the pass. Travellers
who come that way from Cortina instead of by the Tre
Sassi, have a rugged and somewhat uninteresting road
to climb, and, for the sake of this one view which can
afterwards be so easily reached from Caprile, lose the
scenery of the exquisite upper Val Cordevole — perhaps
the loveliest of all the Dolomite valleys.
Turning away at last from the view, we went in

CAPRILE.

199

search of the house of the Cure of Santa Lucia, upon
the outer walls of which, as the story goes, there once
existed a fresco by Titian — painted, it was said, in
return for the hospitality with which he was entertained
there when weatherbound in winter on his way to
Venice. Schaubach tells how it represented " Death
with his scythe, surrounded by symbols of earthly
vanity"; and he furthermore adds that, having been
barbarously whitewashed by some Paroco of the last
century, it was with difficulty recovered. Where, how
ever, Mr. Ball and Mr. Gilbert had, as they tell us,
both failed, the present writer could scarcely hope for
success. A carved " stemma," or coat of arms, over a
side-door was all that the parsonage had to show, and
no trace of the fresco was anywhere discernible.
I shall not soon forget that evening walk back to
Caprile ; the golden splendour of the sky, the sweet
scent of the new-mown hay. Neither shall I forget the
two tired pedestrians, all knapsacks, beards and knicker
bockers, making for Caprile ; nor the shy little maid in
the iron-spiked shoes, timid and silent, keeping goats
by the pathside ; nor the goats themselves, who had no
mauvaise honte, and were almost too friendly ; nor,
above all, that wonderful rose-coloured vision that
broke upon us as we turned down again into the valley
— that vision of the Civetta, looking more than ever like
a mighty organ, with its million pipes all gilded in the
light of the sunset. The sky above was all light ; the
wooded hills below were all shade. Monte Pezza,
soaring out fiom a mist of purple haze, caught the rich
glow upon its rocky summit. Caprile nestled snugly

200 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
down in the hollow. The little village of Rocca, high
on a green plateau, lifted its slender campanile against
the horizon ; while yet farther away, a couple of tender
grey peaks, like hooded nuns, looked up to the Eastern
sky, as if waiting for the evening star to rise. Then
the rose-colour paled upon the lower crags ; and the
radiant cloud-wreath hovering midway across the face of
the Civetta like an amber and golden scarf, turned grey
and ghostlike. A few moments more, and the last flush
faded. The sky turned a tender, greenish grey, flecked
with golden films. The birds became silent in their
nests. The grasshoppers burst into a shrill chorus.
The torrent — steel-coloured now, with here and there a
gleam of silver — rushed on, singing a wild song, and
eager for the sea. Presently a feeble old peasant came
across the pine-trunk bridge, staggering under a load of
hay that left only his legs visible ; and was followed by
his wife, a brisk old woman with five hats piled upon
her head, one on the top of another, and a sheaf of
rakes and scythes under her arm.
So we lingered, spell-bound, till at last the gloaming
came and drove us homeward. Some hours later, the
clouds that we had seen gathering about the Antelao
came up, bringing with them rain and heavy thunder ;
whereupon the ringers got up and rang the church bells
all night long while the storm lasted.

AT CAPRILE.

UNSETTLED WEATHER — PROCESSIONS AND BELLS — RESOURCES OF
CAPRILE — HISTORY OF CAPRILE IN THE MIDDLE AGES — THE FREE
STATE OF ROCCA — LOCAL NOTABILITIES— THE GORGE OF SOTTOGUDA
—THE SASSO DI RONCH — CLEMENTI AND THE TWO NESSOLS — THE
GOATHERD'S CROSS — THE KING AND QUEEN OF THE DOLOMITES — A
MOUNTAIN IN RUINS— THE SASSO BIANCO— A TEMPTING PROPOSAL —
LEGENDS OF THE SASSO DI RONCH.

CHAPTER VIII.
AT CAPRILE.
The good people of Caprile were difficult to please
in the matter of weather. The bells having rung all
night, the population turned out next morning in
solemn procession at five a.m. to implore the Virgin's
protection against storms. The clouds cleared off
accordingly, and a magnificent morning followed the
tempest. At midday, however, the procession formed
again, and with more ceremony than before — a tall
barefooted contadino in a tumbled surplice coming
first, with a huge wooden crucifix ; then a shabby
priest with his hat on, intoning a litany ; then two
very small and very dirty boys in red capes, carrying
unlighted lanthorns on poles ; lastly, a long file of
country folks marching two and two, the men first,
the women next, the children last, all with their hats
in their hands and all chanting. In this order they
wound slowly round the village, beginning at the
Contrada di San Marco.
" What is the procession for now ? " I asked,
turning to a respectable-looking peasant who was
washing down a cart under an archway.

204 UNTRODDEN PEAKS S*> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS
" They are going up to the church to pray for
rain, Signora," he replied, pulling off his hat as the
procession went by.
" But it rained last night," said I, " and this morn
ing you were all praying for fine weather."
"Nay, Signora ; we prayed this morning against
the thunder and lightning — not against the rain,"
said my peasant gravely.
" Oh, I see — you want the rain, but you prefer it
without the thunder."
" Yes, Signora. We want the rain badly. We
have been praying against the drought these ten
days past."
"But it seems to me," said I, "that you would
waste less time if, instead of praying against the
thunder, and the lightning, and the drought, you just
asked the Madonna to put the wind round to the
South-west and send forty-eight hours of steady rain
immediately. The man looked puzzled.
" It may be so, Signora," he said apologetically.
" The Paroco settles all that for us — he knows best."
The poor fellow looked so humble and so serious
that I turned away, quite ashamed of my own levity.
After this, we had unsettled weather for several
days, during which it was invariably fine in the
mornings and tempestuous towards night. This
being the case, the procession came round quite
regularly twice a day, to protest against the storm
or the sunshine, according as the skies were foul
or fair.

AT CAPRILE.

Meanwhile the bell-ringers must have had a hard
time of it, for — much to our discomfort, though
greatly to the satisfaction of the people of Caprile —
the bells were going almost every night. The poor,
I found, believed that this pious exercise dispersed the
evil spirits of the storm ; while the better sort con
ceived that it occasioned some kind of undulation in
the air, and so broke the continuity of the electric
fluid. Who would have expected to find these ex
ploded superstitions * yet in force in any corner of
Europe ? It was like being transported back into the
middle ages.
To be condemned to a few days of uncertain
weather at Caprile is by no means the worst fate
that may befall a traveller in these parts. The place
is full of delightful walks, all near enough to be
enjoyed between the last shower and the* next; of
woods, and glens, and pastures rich in wild flowers ;
of easy hills for those who love climbing ; of shade
for the student ; of trout for the angler ; of ferns for
the botanist. In a lovely little ravine among over
hanging firs and mossy nooks of rock, not a quarter
of a mile from the village, L. found specimens of
* " It is sayd the evil spirytes that ben in the regyon of thayre doubte
moche whan they here the belles rongen: and this is the cause why the
belles ben rongen whan it thondreth, and whan grete tempeste and outrages
of wether happen, to the ende that the feinds and wycked spirytes sholde be
abashed and flee, and cease of the movynge of tempeste."— Wynken de
Worde : The Golden Legend.
See also the old Monkish rhyme inscribed on most mediseval bells :—
Funera plango— Fulgura frango — Sabbato pango.
Excito lentos — Dissipo ventos — Paco cruentos.

206 UNTRODDEN PEAKS & UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

the Cystopteris fragilis, Cystopteris alpina, Asplenium
septentrionale, and several varieties of maiden hair.
And for the matter of sketching, a subject starts up
before one at every turn of the path.
Nor does one, as in too many Dolomite villages
and valleys, pay the penalty of starvation in exchange
for all these pleasures. The food is very fairly good,
and Madame Pezze's cooking is unexceptionable. Beef,
even though disguised in cinnamon, is welcome after
a long and fatiguing course of veal-cutlet ; the salmon-
trout of Alleghe are excellent ; the bread, the wild
strawberries, the rich mountain cream are all quite
delicious ; and even vegetables are not wholly un
known. Then, besides the walks and the ferns and the
sketching, Caprile — like almost every Italian place —
has its special characteristics ; its local curiosities ;
its own little root of mediaeval history ; and these are
things that do not come out unless one happens to
be idling about for a few days, talking to the people,
making friends with the Paroco, and borrowing all
the dusty old vellum-bound books in the place. In
this way, we light upon a few odd scraps of fact,
more interesting to pick up, perhaps, than to relate.
Thus we learn that there were great iron-mines once
at the Col di Santa Lucia ; that both Alleghe and
Caprile were famous for their skilled ironsmiths and
armourers ; and that they used to supply knives and
swords to Venice. That exquisite old bronze door-handle
wrought in the form of a mermaid, and that twisted
hammer beaten out of one solid piece which I admired

AT CAPRILE. 207

so much yesterday on the door of yonder dilapidated
stone house at the farther end of the village, came pro
bably from some anvil now buried at the bottom of the
lake. There were forty mines once, they say, in the pro
vince of Belluno, where now only four are in operation.
The old name of Caprile was Pagus Gabrielis. I could
not learn that any inscriptions, urns, or mosaics had ever
been found here, as at Longarone and Castel Lavazzo ;
so that the ancient Latin name seems to be the only
Roman relic left. Towards the middle of the XV.
century, the men of Caprile and Cadore united their
political fortunes, and placed themselves under the pro
tection of Venice ; whereupon the Republic appointed
them a governor with the title of Captain General. It
was one of these Captains who erected the column of
St. Mark yonder, at the extreme end of the village. At
this time Caprile was a flourishing commercial centre,
and the chief commune in these valleys.
Among the natural curiosities of the place, they
point you out a small hole in the face of a neighbouring
rock, and tell you it is the mouth of a spring inpreg-
nated with sulphuretted hydrogen, once worked to some
profit, but now abandoned. We also heard of the
recent discovery of a vein of fine alabaster at a place
called Digonera, a little farther up the valley, said to
equal in quality the best alabaster of Tuscany.
Then, too, there is the dialect, unaccountably smack
ing of French in a country locked in between Venetia
and Austria. Almost every little separate " paese " in
these parts has its own vocabulary ; and an enthusiast
like Professor Max Midler might doubtless, by means

208 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
of a comparative analysis of these hundred-and-one
dialectic varieties, extract all kinds of interesting phi
lological flies in amber.
More curious, however, than any fact having to do
with Caprile is the history of Rocca — a small village
perched upon a hill just against the mouth of the Val
Pettorina and fronting the precipitous northern face of
Monte Pezza.* This tiny place, known in the middle
ages as Rocca di Pietore, or Roccabruna, if never in the
strict sense of the word a Republic, was at all events
self-governed ; owing only a nominal allegiance to the
Archdeacon of Capo d'Istria, and enjoying a special
immunity from tax, impost, or personal service ("im-
posta o colta o fazioni personali"). This interesting
little community, consisting of forty-five families, the
men of which were nearly all armourers, was con
strained in a.d. 1389 to acknowledge the suzerainty of
the Visconti, who placed it under the jurisdiction of the
Bellunese. Not even so, however, would Rocca resign
its cherished liberties, but stipulated that all the articles
of its ancient statute should be observed inviolate. The
MS. original of this remarkable document, drawn out in
sixty-six clauses and registered at Belluno in the year
1418, is now in the possession of Signora Pezze of
Caprile. When by and by the Visconti attempted to
levy a tax upon their steel-work, the men of Rocca
rebelled ; and later still, in a.d. 1659, being then subject
to the Venetians and jealous as ever of their privileges,
they despatched an ambassador to the Senate, remind
ing that august body how, " being situated on the fron-
* See Frontispiece.

AT CAPRILE. 209

tier and exposed to the attacks of enemies beyond the
border, the people of Rocca had at all times testified
to their patriotism with their blood, and preserved
intact those privileges which were dearer to them than
the pupils of their eyes." *
In all but name a republic, this little free state,
smaller than either Marino or Andorre, finally lost its
independence when ceded to the Austrians with the rest
of Lombardo-Venetia in 1814. It now ranks as an
ordinary parish in the district of Belluno ; its castle has
disappeared ; and only four roofless walls of rough
masonry in a green meadow at the foot of the hill on
the side next Caprile, remain to mark the site of its
former Municipal Palace. It is an ugly, gable-ended
ruin, and looks like the shell of a small church.
In the way of local notabilities, Rocca has its painter,
one Domenico de Biasio, whose works are supposed to
have merit ; while Caprile rejoices in a certain Padre
Barnabas of the Capuchin order, famous for the
eloquence of his sermons, which have been published in
Belluno. Having neither seen the paintings nor read
the sermons, I am unable to pronounce upon the ex
cellence of either.
* This spirited address, a copy of which is preserved in the archives of
Belluno, begins thus : — " Serenissimo Principe. La Rocca di Pietore, situata
ne' monti piu aspri e confinante con paesi esteri, in tutti i tempi esposta all'
invasione dei nemici, con caratteri di Sangue ha dati segni infallibile della
sua fede, e dimostrato che gli abitanti di quella, quanto piu semplice e poveri
di beni di fortuna, tanto piu sono dotati di ardenza e prontezza a sagrificare
se stessi in servigio del principe loro ; da che e sortito che sempre dalla
Serenita Vostra sono stati con clementissimo occhio riguardati conservan-
doli in tutti i tempi illesi ed intalli quei privilegi che gli sono piu delle pupille
degli occhi cari," &c, &c. N 2

210 UNTRODDEN PEAKS <5r> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
The two really remarkable natural curiosities of the
place, however, are the gorge of Sottoguda and the
Sasso di Ronch. Every visitor to Caprile is shown the
first : we, I believe, were the first travellers who ever
took the trouble to go up in search of the second.
The gorge of Sottoguda — a deep, narrow cleft
between overhanging cliffs, distant about four-and-a-half,
or five miles from Caprile — is in fact the upper end of
the Val Pettorina, which here creeps between the lower
spurs of Monte Guda and the Monte Foy. It is neither
so narrow, nor so dark, nor so deep down as Pfeffers or
Trient ; but it reminds one of both, and, though on a
smaller scale, is very fine and curious in its way. That
the whole gorge is a mere crack in the rocks produced
by some pre-historic natural convulsion, is evident at
first sight. I even fancied that I could see how in
certain places the rent cliffs might have been fitted
together again, like the pieces of a child's puzzle.
The length of the gorge, which wriggles in and out
like a serpent, is rather more than half-a-mile, windings
included. Within this short distance, the torrent that
flows through it is crossed by seventeen bridges of rough
pine trunks. So abrupt are the turns .and sinuosities,
that never more than two of these bridges are visible at
the same time, and sometimes the traveller who is only
one bridge in advance is entirely lost sight of by his
companions. The torrent roars along in great force,
and is echoed and re-echoed in a deafening way from
the cliffs on either side. The gorge is in many places
not more than twelve feet wide. The precipices, at a
rough guess, rise to a height of about six or seven

AT CAPRILE.

hundred feet. The scale, after all, is not gigantic ; but
the light and shadow come in grandly at certain hours,
throwing one side of the defile into brilliant sunshine
and the other into profoundest gloom, with an effect
never to be obtained in either Pfeffers or Trient.
We first saw Sottoguda on a showery afternoon when
the lights were unusually shifting and beautiful, and all
the trees and bushes overhead, and all the rich red and
brown and golden mosses on the rocks and boulders
down below, were sparkling with rain drops. A woman
standing on a slender bridge formed of a single pine-
trunk thrown across a rift of rock some three hundred
feet above our heads, looked down, knitting, as we
wound in and out among the bridges and rapids. She
smiled and spoke ; but the roar of the water was such
that we could not hear her. We saw the motion of her
lips, and that was all. Presently a little white goat
came and thrust its head forward from behind her
skirts, and also peered down upon the wayfarers
below. The blue sky and the green bushes framed
them round, and made a picture not soon to be
forgotten. Most travellers see Sottoguda from Caprile ; but it is
approached to more advantage from the side of the
Fedaya pass, and should, if possible, be first taken from
that direction. Those, however, who are not equal to
the fatigue of crossing the pass, may go to Sottoguda
and back from Caprile in about three hours with mules,
or in four hours on foot.
To go to the Sasso di Ronch, however, takes quite
half a day. It is a very curious spot, and one of which

212 UNTRODDEN PEAKS & UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
the writer may claim to be in a very small waj' the
discoverer. Wandering about as usual before breakfast the first
morning after our arrival in Caprile, and taking the road
towards Alleghe, I observed a strange, solitary chimney
of rock standing out against the sky, high upon the
sloping shoulder of Monte Migion, about two thousand
feet above the level of the valley. Seen from below, it
had apparently no thickness proportionate to its height
and breadth, and looked like a gigantic paper-knife
stuck upright in a bed of green sward. A few trees and
a couple of chalets nestled at the foot of this eccentric
object ; and, scaling it by these, I concluded that it
could not measure less than 250 feet from base to
summit. I had come out that morning to see the
Civetta ; but, having taken a long look at that Queen of
Dolomites, I nevertheless sat down there and then
upon a big boulder in a flood of burning sunshine, and,
with the help of an opera-glass, sketched the Sasso
di Ronch.
From that moment, I was tormented by the desire to
see it more nearly. There were houses up there, so it
was fair to conclude there must also be a path ; and of
the view it must command in at least two directions,
there could be no doubt. Giuseppe, however, knew
nothing about it ; and none of the Pezzes had ever
taken the trouble to go higher than Rocca, or Laste, or
the cross on the brink of the cliff about halfway between
the two, where strangers are taken to see the view over
the Civetta.
" There is nothing up yonder," said young Signora

AT CAPRILE. 213

Pezze, contemptuously ; " nothing but an old stone and
a couple of poor cottages ! "
But the old stone had fascinated our imaginations ;

SASSO DI RONCH.

so one fine morning we sent for Clementi and the mules,
and started upon our voyage of discovery.
Clementi must be introduced - — • Clementi and the
mules. Clementi is our Caprile guide. He either

214 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &¦ UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
belongs to the mules or the mules belong to him ; it is
impossible to say which. One mule is black, the other
white, and both are named Nessol ; which is perplexing.
Fair Nessol is L.'s mule — a gentle beast, weak but
willing ; given to stopping and staring at the landscape
in a meditative way ; but liable to odd and sometimes
inconvenient prejudices. Yesterday he objected to
bridges, which in the gorge of Sottoguda was particu
larly awkward. To-day he suddenly abhors everything
black, and kicks up his heels at the cure before we are
out of the village. Dark Nessol, being bigger and
stronger, is assigned to me. He is a self-sufficient
brute ; one who, in the matter of roads and turnings,
invariably prefers his own opinion to that of his rider.
His appetite is boundless, omnivorous, insatiable. He
not only steals the young corn by the road-side and the
flowers inside garden fences, but he eats poison-berries,
chicken-bones, bark, egg-shells and potato-parings. He
would eat the Encyclopaedia Britannica, if it came in
his way. L. and her mule are the best friends in the
world. She feeds him perpetually with sugar, and he
follows her about like a dog. My mule and I, on the
contrary, never arrive at terms of intimacy. Perhaps
he knows that I am the heavier weight, and resents me
accordingly ; perhaps he dislikes the society of ladies,
and prefers carrying half-ton loads of hay and charcoal,
which is the sort of thing he has been brought up to do.
At all events, he refuses from the first to make himself
agreeable. Both mules, however, do their work wonder
fully, and climb like cats upon occasion.
Clementi is a native of Caprile, and lodges with his

AT CAPRILE. 215
old mother on the ground-floor of a big stone house in
the middle of the village. He is a short, active, sturdy,
black-eyed little fellow ; hot tempered, ready-witted,
merry, untiring, full of animation and gesture ; with an
honest bull-dog face, and an eye that is always laugh
ing. He wears his trowsers tucked up round the ancles ;
a bunch of cock's feathers in his hat ; and a bottle slung
over his shoulder. It is impossible to look at him
without being reminded of the clown in a Christmas
pantomime. Such is Clementi ; the very antipodes of
Giuseppe, whom I described long since. With these
two men and these two mules, we travelled henceforth
as long as we remained among the Dolomites.
Setting off that bright July morning for the Sasso di
Ronch, our way lies at first in the direction of Rocca.
The path, however, turns aside at the ruins of the old
Municipal Palace and bears away to the right, striking
up at once through the fir-woods which on this side
clothe the lower slopes of Monte Migion. Thus, in
alternate shade and sunshine, it winds and mounts as
far as the cross — a point of view on the giddy edge of
an abrupt precipice facing to the South. The cliff here
goes sheer down to the valley, a thousand feet or more ;
and Clementi tells how the cross was put there, not to
mark the point of view for " Messieurs les Etrangers ; "
but to commemorate the death of a poor little goat-herd
only eleven years of age, who, going in search of a stray
kid, fell over, and was dashed to pieces before he reached
the bottom.
The view from here is fine, considering at what a
moderate elevation we stand. The Civetta rises before

216 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
us, grandly displayed ; five valleys open away beneath
our feet ; and the slated roofs of Caprile and Rocca
glisten in the morning sunshine hundreds of feet below.
A greenish-blue corner of the lake gleams just beyond
the last curve of the Val d'Alleghe ; while between that
point and this, there extend, distance beyond distance,
the fir-woods, the pastures, and the young corn-slopes
of Monte Pezza.
From hence, a better path winds round towards the
North-east in the direction of Laste — a small white
village on a mountain ledge high above the valley, look
ing straight over towards Buchenstein. From here the
grey old castle on its pedestal of crag, the green valley
of Andraz, and the mountains of the Tre Sassi Pass
are all visible ; but the main feature of the view on this
side is the Pelmo — just as the main feature of the view
on the other side is the Civetta. Seen through a gap
in the mountains, it rises magnificently against the
horizon, looking more than ever like a gigantic fortress.
I have called the Civetta, Queen of the Dolomites ; and
so, in like manner, 1 would call the Pelmo, King. The
one is all grace and symmetry ; the other all massive-
ness and strength. It is possible to associate the idea
of fragility with the Civetta — it is possible to conceive
how that exquisite perpendicular screen with its
thousands of slender pilasters and pinnacles, might be
shivered by any great convulsion of Nature ; but the
Pelmo looks as if rooted in the heart of "the great
globe itself," immoveable, till the day of the last
disruption. For a distant view, this of the Pelmo from near Laste

AT CAPRILE. 217

on Monte Migion, is the grandest with which I am
acquainted. From this point we next struck up across a green
slope wooded like an English park, and so came out
upon another path, steep and stony and glaring, which
led to the cottages that I had seen from the valley.
A woman scouring a brass pan at the spring, and
two others turning the yellow flax upon the hillside,
stopped in their work to stare in speechless wonder.
The children shouted and ran indoors, as if we were
goblins. We stayed a moment at the spring to fill our water
flasks and let the mules drink.
" Have you never seen any ladies up here before?"
laughed Clementi.
" Never! " said one of the women, throwing up her
hands emphatically. "Never! What have they come
for ? "
We explained that our object was to see and sketch
the Sasso up yonder.
"II Sasso!" she repeated, half incredulously ; " il
Sasso ! "
She evidently thought us quite demented.
Another bit of rough path, another turn, and the
great paper-knife rock, like a huge, solitary Menhir, is
nodding over our heads.
It looks even bigger than I had expected — bigger and
thinner ; but also more shapeless and less interesting.
It is a marvel that the first high wind should not blow
it down instantly; but then it had this effect from
below.

218 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
" Don't you think we have taken a great deal of
trouble for nothing?" says L., in a tone of dis
appointment. I would not acknowledge it for worlds, but I have
been thinking so myself for some minutes. I push on,
however, turn another corner, and arriving at the top
of the Col, come suddenly upon a most unexpected and
fantastic scene — a scene as of a mountain in ruins.
For not only is the whole appearance of the Sasso
changed in the strangest way by being seen in profile,
but behind the ridge on which the Sasso stands there is
revealed a vast circular amphitheatre, like the crater of
an extinct volcano, strewn with rent crags, precipices
riven from top to bottom, and enormous fragments of
rock, many of which are at least as big as the clock-
tower at Westminster. All these are piled one upon
another in the wildest confusion ; all are prostrate, save
one gigantic needle which stands upright in the midst
of the circle, like an iceberg turned to stone.
What was the nature of this great catastrophe, and
when did it happen ? It could not have been a berg
fall ; for the mountain slopes above are all grassy Alp,
and the very summit of Monte Migion is a space of
level pasture. It could not have been an eruption ;
for these fragments are pure Dolomite limestone, and
Dolomite, it is now agreed, is not volcanic. Unable
even to form a guess as to the cause of this great ruin,
I can only say that, to my unscientific eyes, it looks
exactly as if a volcano had burst up beneath a Dolomite
summit and blown it into a thousand fragments, like a
mine.

THE SASSO DI RONCH.

[P. 221.

AT CAPRILE.

Meanwhile here, on the ridge, apart and alone, like
a solitary remnant of outer battlement left standing
beside a razed fortress, rises to a height of at least
250 feet above the grass at its base, the Sasso di Ronch.
Seen thus in profile, it is difficult to believe that it is the
same Sasso di Ronch which one has been looking at
from below. It looks like a mere aiguille, or spire, dis
proportionately slender for its height, and curved at the
top, as if just ready to pitch over. Someone has com
pared the Matterhorn to the head and neck of a war-
horse rearing up behind the valley of Zermatt ; so
might the Sasso di Ronch from this point be compared
to the head and neck of a giraffe. Standing upon its
knife-edge of ridge — all precipice below, all sky above,
the horizon one long sweep of jagged peaks — it makes
as wild and weird a subject as ever I sat down to sketch
before or since !
Thus the morning passes. At noon, we rest in the
shade of the Sasso to eat our frugal luncheon of bread
and hard-boiled eggs ; then, being refreshed, pack up
the sketching traps and prepare to go home. It is
not long, however, before we call another halt — this
time in the midst of a beautiful open glade a little way
below the cottages. Here — framed in by a foreground
of velvet turf, a chalet and a group of larches, and only
divided from us by the misty abyss of the Val Pettorina
— rise the vertical cliffs and craggy summits of Monte
Pezza. It is a ready-made sketch, and must be seized
on the spot.
" There ought to be a fine view from that point yon
der," I remark, mixing a pale little pool of cobalt, like a

222 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
solution of turquoises, and addressing myself to no one
in particular.
Hereupon Clementi, apropos, as it would seem, of
nothing, says briskly : —
" Would the Signoras like to make a first ascent ? "
" A first ascent," I repeat vaguely, adding a soften
ing drop of brown madder, and so turning the whole
pool into a tender pearly grey. " What do you
mean ? "
" I mean, would the Signoras like to be the first to
mount to the top of the Sasso Bianco ? "
"The Sasso Bianco!" says L., beginning to be
interested in the conversation. "Where is the Sasso
Bianco ? "
Clementi points to my sketch, and then to the moun
tain opposite.
" But that is the Monte Pezza ! " I exclaim.
" Scusate, Signora — the Sasso Bianco is the summit
of the Monte Pezza. No traveller has ever been up
there. It is new — new — new!"
" How can it be new ? " I ask, incredulously. " It is
not a very high mountain."
" Scusate ancora, Signora — it is not a mountain of
the first class ; but it is high, very high, for a mountain
of the second class. It is higher than either the Friso-
let, the Fernazza, or the Migion."
" Still it is much less difficult than the Civetta, and
the Civetta has been ascended several times. How
then should the Sasso Bianco have escaped till now ? "
Because, Signora, the Sasso Bianco is too difficult
for ordinary travellers, and not difficult enough for

AT CAPRILE.

223

the Club Alpino," replies Clementi, oracularly. " II
Ball, il Tuckett, il Whitwell care nothing for a moun
tain which they can swallow at one mouthful."
This sounds logical. I begin to look at my moun
tain with more respect, and to take extra pains with

SASSO BIANCO.

my sketch. At the same time, I venture to remind
Clementi that L. and I are only " ordinary travellers "
and, as such, might find the Sasso Bianco too tough
to be swallowed in even many mouthfuls. But he
will not listen to this view of the question for a mo
ment. If we choose to do it, we have but to say
so. He will undertake that the Signoras shall go up
"pulito."

224 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
The sketch being by this time finished, we go down,
talking always of the Sasso Bianco. Clementi is eager
for us to achieve the honour of a "prima ascenzione,"
and advocates it with all his eloquence. Giuseppe,
anxious that we should attempt nothing in excess of our
strength, listens gravely ; puts in a question here and
there ; and reserves his opinion. According to Clem
enti, nothing can be finer than the view or easier than
the ascent ; but then he admits that he himself has
never been higher than the upper pastures, and has
never seen the view he praises so highly. Still he has
gone far enough to survey the ground ; he knows that
we can certainly ride as far as the last group of chalets ;
and he is confident that the walk to the summit cannot
be difficult.
On the whole, the thing sounds tempting. Our
plans, however, are already laid out for a long excur
sion to be begun, weather permitting, to-morrow. So
the subject of the Sasso Bianco, having been discussed,
is for the present dismissed. Dismissed, but not for
gotten. Those words "prima ascenzione " are Caba
listic, and haunt the memory strangely. They invest
the Monte Pezza with a special and peculiar interest ;
so that it is no longer as other mountains are, but
seems henceforth to have a halo round its summit.
But I must not forget the old peasant whom we met
a little way below the goatherd's cross, as we went
down that afternoon. He was a fine old man, still
handsome, dressed in a new suit of homespun frieze
and evidently well-to-do. He was sitting by the path-
side. A basket and a long stick lay beside him. As

AT CAPRILE. 225
we drew near, he rose and bowed ; so being on foot
(the men and mules following at a distance) we stopped
to speak to him. He, of course, immediately asked
where we had been, and where we were going. These
are the invariable questions. I said that we had been
up to the Sasso di Ronch.
"To the Sasso!" he repeated. "Ah, you have
been up to the Sasso ! Did you see the. ruins of the
Castle ? "
I replied that, not knowing there were ruins, we had
looked for nothing of the kind.
" Aye," he said, shaking his head, " and unless you
knew where to find them, you would never notice
them. But they are there. I have seen them myself
many a time, when I was younger and could climb like
you." " Do you know to whom the Castle belonged ? "
" Si, si, si — lo penso bene ! Will the Signoras be
pleased to sit, while I tell them all about it ? "
With this he resumed his seat on the grassy bank,
wiped his brow with his handkerchief, and talked
away with the air of one who was accustomed to be
listened to.
The Castle, he said, was built by the Visconti — the
cruel Visconti of Milan. They erected it towards the
close of the Fourteenth century, to overawe the " Re-
publica " of Rocca, over which they then exercised a
nominal sovereignty. But when the rule of the Vis
conti came to an end, the " brava " commune, fearing
lest the nobles of Belluno should seize and occupy this
stronghold to the ruin of the people, pulled it down,

226 UNTRODDEN PEAKS S-= UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
leaving scarce one stone standing upon another. That
was between four and five centuries ago. Then the
nobles of Belluno, finding they could obtain no footing
on the mountain, went and built the Castle of Andraz
up yonder in the valley of Buchenstein, and there made
themselves a terror to all the country. Had the Sig
noras seen the Castle of Andraz ? Ah, well, that too
was now a ruin — pulled down by the French in 1866,
according to international treaty. As for the antico
castello up by the Sasso, it was like an old tree of
which the trunk was cut down, and only the roots left.
Nothing remained of it but the foundations. Being
built of the rock, they looked so like the rock that you
might pass them a hundred times without observing
them. There were not many people now living, he
said, who knew where to look for them. When he was
a young man, the contadini used to go up and dig there
for hidden treasure ; but they had always been fright
ened away by the demons. The ruins were full of
demons underground, in the subterraneous dungeons,
the entrances to which were now lost. They were
wont to appear in the form of snakes, and they raised
terrible storms of wind and thunder to drive away those
who sought to discover the secrets of the ruin. Had
he ever seen the demons himself? Why, no — he could
not say that he had ; for he had never cared to tempt
the Devil by going to dig for treasure ; but he had seen
and heard the tempest raging up there about the top of
the mountain, many and many a time, when it was
fair weather down in the valley. And he had once
known a man who went up at midnight on the eve of

AT CAPRILE. 227

Santo Giovanni, to dig in a certain spot where he had
dreamed he should find buried gold. When he had
dug a deep hole, Ecco ! his spade struck against an
earthen pot, and he thought his fortune was made ; but
when he took the lid off the pot, there came out only
five small black snakes, no bigger than your finger.
At this sight, being both alarmed and disappointed, he
up with his spade and cut one of these little snakes in
twain ; and lo ! in one instant, the hole that he had
dug was full of snakes — big, black, venomous, twisted,
hissing snakes, thousands and thousands of them, all
pouring out upon him in a hideous throng, so that
he had to fly for his life, and only escaped death by a
miracle !
" But has nothing ever been found in the ruins ? " I
asked, when at the end of this story the old man
paused to take breath.
" Nothing but rubbish, Signora," he replied. " A
few small coins — a rusty casque or two — some frag
ments of armour — niente piu ! "
He would have talked on for an hour, if we could
have stayed to listen to him ; but we were in haste, and
now wished him good-day. So he rose again, took off
his hat, and in quaint, set terms wished us " good
health, a pleasant journey, a safe return, and the bless
ing of God."
The rest of that afternoon was spent in laying out
our route by the map ; unpacking and selecting stores ;
and endeavouring to solve the oft-propounded problem
of how to get the contents of a large portmanteau into
a small black bag. For the days of caretti, landaus, o 2

228 UNTRODDEN PEAKS <&> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

and carriage-roads were over. Henceforth our ways
would lie among mountain paths and unfrequented
mule-tracks, and to-morrow we must start upon an
expedition of at least ten days with only as much
luggage as each could carry packed behind her own
saddle. Giuseppe, it was arranged, should carry the
sketching traps, and Clementi the provision basket. In
this order we were to take a long round beginning with
Cencenighe and Agordo, going thence to Primiero,
Paneveggio and Predazzo, and coming home by Cam-
pidello and the Fedaja pass. In the meanwhile L.'s
maid was to be left in charge of the rooms, and under
the kindly care of the Pezzes.

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO.

DIFFICULTY OF GETTING UNDER) WAY— FISHING FOR TIMBER — CEN-
CENIGHE — A VALLEY OF ROCKS — AGORDO AND ITS PIAZZA — THE
MINES OF THE VAL IMPERINA — THE DINNER "DOLOROUS" — A
SPLENDID STORM — VOLTAGO AND FRASSENE — AN " UNTRODDEN
PEAK " — THE GOSALDA PASS — A LAND OF FAMINE— MONTE PRABELLO
—THE CEREDA PASS — A JOURNEY WITHOUT AN END— CASTEL PIETRA
— PRIMIERO AT LAST — ANCIENT LINEAGE OF THE TYROLEAN INN
KEEPERS.

CHAPTER IX.
TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO.
Having risen literally with the dawn, we are on the
road next morning before six, bound for Agordo. The
Pezzes gather about the house-door to see us off. The
Austrian officer who lodges over the way and soothes
his Customs-laden soul by perpetually torturing a
cracked zitter, leans out in his shirt sleeves from a
second-floor window, to see us mount. He is already
smoking his second, if not his third meerschaum ; and
only pauses now and then to twirl his moustache with
that air of serene contempt for everyone but himself
which so eminently distinguishes him.
It takes some little time to strap on the bags, to say
good-bye, and to induce dark Nessol to receive me upon
any terms. He has a hypocritical way of standing
quite still till the very moment Giuseppe is about to put
me up, and then suddenly ducks away, to my immense
discomfiture and the undisguised entertainment of
the neighbourhood. When this performance has been
repeated some six or seven times, he is hustled into a
corner and pinned against the wall by main force, while
I mount ignominiously at last by the help of a chair.

232 U.-rrPODijii;: PEAKS £- UI.FPEOUEXTED VALLEYS.
The road to Cencenighe lies by way of A'.'.eghe. so
that for the first five miles or more it is al! familiar
ground. The air is fresh, but the sky is already one
blaze of cloudless sunlight. The Civetta rises before us
in shadowy splendour. The larks are singing as I had
thought thev never sang anywhere save on the Cam-
pagna between Rome and Tivoli.
Between forty and fifty bronzed and bare-legged
peasants are collecting floating timber this morning at
the head of the lake. Some wade ; some pilot rough
rafts of tree-trunks loosely lashed together ; some stand
on the banks and draw the logs to shore by means of
long boat-hooks. One active fellow sits his pine-trunk
as if it were a horse, and paddles it to shore with un
common dexterity. The whole scene is highly pic
turesque and amusing ; and the men, with their shirt
sleeves rolled above their elbows, and their trowsers
above their knees, look just like Neapolitan fishermen.
Every now and then they all join in a shrill, prolonged
cry, which adds greatly to the wildness of the effect.
Skirting the borders of the lake, we draw nearer every
moment to the lower cliffs of the Civetta, and arrive at
the scene of the great bergfall of 1771 ; — a wilderness
of fallen rocks, like the battle-ground of the Titans.
Somewhere beneath these mountains of debris lie the
two buried villages. No one any longer remembers
exactly where they stood, nor even which of the four*
they were. That Alleghe lay near the middle of the
present water, seems to be the only fact about which
every one is confident. A solitary white house, half
* Alleghe ; Riete ; Marin ; Fucine.

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 233

podere, half albergo, stands on a hill just above the
point where the Cordevole, swelled by all the torrents of
the Civetta, rushes out at the lower end of the lake and
pours impetuously down the steep and narrow gorge
leading to Cencenighe.
Here the path, after being carried for a long way
high on the mountain side, gradually descends to the
level of the river, crossing and re-crossing it continually
by means of picturesque wooden bridges. Here, too,
an adder, sunning itself on a heap of stones by the
wayside, wriggles away at our approach, and is speedily
killed by Clementi, who skips about and flourishes his
stick like a maniac. Meanwhile, a tremendous South-
West wind blows up the gorge like a hurricane, without
in any way mitigating the pitiless blaze of the sun over
head, or the glare which is flung up at a white heat
from the road underfoot.
At length, about 10.30 a.m. we arrive in sight of
Cencenighe, a small village in the open flat just between
the Val Cordevole and the Val di Canale. The Monte
Pelsa, which is, in fact, a long, wild buttress of the
Civetta ; the Cima di Pape, a volcanic peak 8,239 fee*
in height ; and the southward ridge of Monte Pezza,
enclose it in a natural amphitheatre, the central area of
which is all fertile meadow-land traversed by long lines
of feathery poplars. Putting up here for a couple of
hours at a poor little inn in the midst of the village, we
are glad to take refuge from wind and sun in a stuffy
upstairs room, while the men dine, and the mules feed,
and where we take luncheon. One soon learns not
rashly to venture on strange meats and drinks in these

234 UNTRODDEN PEAKS & UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
remote villages. Before starting in the morning, we
now habitually provide ourselves with fresh bread and
hard-boiled eggs ; and so, on arriving at a new place,
ask only for cheese, wine, and a fresh lettuce from the
garden. The cheese is not often very palatable, and we
generally give the wine to the men ; but as something
must be ordered and paid for, the purpose is answered.
When we are unusually tired, or minded to indulge in
luxuries, we light the Etna, and treat ourselves to
Liebig soup, or tea.
Beyond Cencenighe, the character of the scenery
changes suddenly. It is still the Val Cordevole, but is
wholly unlike its former pastoral self either above or
below Caprile. Barren precipices scarred by innumer
able bergfalls close in the narrow way ; fallen boulders
of enormous bulk lie piled everywhere in grand and
terrible confusion ; while the road is again and again
cut through huge barricades of solid debris. Frequent
wayside crosses repeat the old tragic story of sudden
death. The torrent, chafed and tormented by a thou
sand obstacles, rages below. Wild Dolomitic peaks
start up here and there, are seen for a moment, and
then vanish. A blind beggar-woman curled up with
her crutches in the recess of a painted shrine by the
roadside, uplifts a wailing voice at our approach. All
is mournful ; all is desolate.
By and by, the gorge widens ; the great twin-towers of
Monte Lucano and the splintered peaks of Monte Pizz
come into sight ; and, like a rapid change of scene upon
a mighty stage, a sunny Italian valley rich in vines and
chesnuts and fields of Indian corn opens out before us.

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 235
From thence the road, winding now in shade, now in
sunshine, traverses a country which would be as
thoroughly Southern as the inland parts about Naples,
were it not that the houses in every little village are
decorated in the Tyrolean way with half-obliterated
frescoes of Madonnas and Saints. Large rambling
farm-houses built over gloomy arches peopled by pigs,
poultry, and children, enliven the landscape with an air
of slovenly prosperity quite Campanian. A wayside
osteria hangs out the traditional withered bough, and
announces in letters afoot long: — -"Buon Acqua gratis,
e Vendita di Buon Vino " (Good Water for nothing and
Good Wine for sale) . By and by, a scattered town and
an important new-looking church with a dome and two
small cupolas come into sight at the far end of the
valley. This is Agordo, an archdeaconry, and the
Capoluogo, or chief place, of the district.
Two long, last sultry miles of dusty flat, and we are
there. A large albergo at the upper end of a piazza
as big at least as Trafalgar Square, receives us on
arrival — a pretentious, comfortless place, with an
arcade and a cafe on the ground floor, and no end of
half-furnished upper rooms. Being ushered upstairs
by a languid damsel with an enormous chignon (for
there seems to be neither master, mistress, nor waiter
about the place) we take possession of a whole empty
floor looking to the front, and ask, of course, the tired
travellers' first question, " What can we have for
dinner ? "
The answer to this, enquiry comes in the astounding
form of a regular bill of fare. We can have anything

236 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &° UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

from soup to ices, if we choose ; so, in an evil hour, we
order a " real " dinner, to consist of several courses,
including trout and a boiled chicken. We even talk
vaguely of spending a day or two in Agordo, for the
longer enjoyment of such luxurious quarters.
In the meantime, having rested, we stroll out to see
the town.
Strange to say, there is no town ; there is only the
piazza. Houses enough there may possibly be to make
a town, if one could only bring them together, and
arrange them within reasonable limits ; but here they
show as a mere brick-and-mortar fringe, thinly furnish
ing three sides of a great desolate enclosure where all
the children, and all the stray dogs, and all the Pallo
players most do congregate. Three sides only ; for
the fourth is wholly occupied by Count Manzoni's
dilapidated villa, with its unpainted shutters, its
curtainless windows, and its outside multitude of
tenth-rate gods and goddesses, which crowd the sky
line of the facade like an army of acrobats and ballet-
girls in stone.
The church, a modern work in the Renaissance style
designed by Segusini, stands near the hotel at the
upper, or East end of the Piazza. The door being
open, we lift the heavy leathern curtain, and walk in ;
but it is like walking into "Chaos and old night."
Every blind is down ; every avenue is closed against
the already fading daylight. A Capuchin monk and
some three or four women kneel here and there, more
shadowy than the shadows. A lamp burns dimly before
the high altar — a few tapers flare before the shrine of

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 237

the Madonna — faint gleams of gilding, outlines of
frescoes, of altar-pieces, of statues, are indistinctly visi
ble. To gain any idea of the decorations, or even of
the proportions of the church, is so impossible that we
defer it altogether till to-morrow, and make, instead, the
tour of the piazza.
Having done this, and having peeped into a very
narrow, dirty back street running up the hill behind the
town, we come home (home being the albergo of the
" Miniere ") to dinner.
And here I should observe that the house is so called
after the copper, lead, and zinc mines which form the
commercial treasure of the district. These mines,
lying at the mouth of the Val Imperina, about two
miles from Agordo, belonged formerly to the Republic
of Venice, and are now government property. Of
the wealth of their resources there seems to be but
one opinion ; yet the works are carried on so parsi
moniously that the nett profit seldom exceeds 50,000
lire, or about ^2,000 English, per annum. A quick
silver mine near Gosalda, about six miles off in another
direction, worked by a private company, is reported to
pay better.
Did I say that we came home to dinner ? Ah, well !
it was a sultry, languid evening ; there was thunder in
the air ; and, happily, we were not very hungry. I will
not dwell upon the melancholy details. Enough if I
observe that the boiled chicken not only came to table
in its head-dress of feathers like an African chief en
grande tenue, but also with its internal economy quite
undisturbed. The rest of the dishes were conceived and

238 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
carried out in the same spirit : — " Non ragionam di lor,"
&c, &c. For my own part, I believe to this day that the
cook was a raving maniac.
That dream of spending a day or two at Agordo
vanished in the course of dinner. We resolved to push
on as quickly as possible for Primiero ; and so, as soon
as the cloth was removed, sent for Giuseppe and ordered
the mules to be at the door by half-past six next
morning. That night there came a tremendous storm ; the
heaviest we had yet had. It began suddenly, with a peal
of thunder, just over the roof of the hotel, and then con
tinued to lighten and thunder incessantly for more than
half an hour before any rain fell. The lightning seemed
to run slantwise along the clouds in jagged streams, and
to end each time with a plunge straight down into the
earth. These streams of electric fluid were in them
selves blinding white, but the light they flashed over
the landscape was of a brilliant violet, as rich in colour
as a burst of Bengal light. I never saw anything to
equal the vividness of that violet light, or the way in
which it not only stripped the darkness from the great
mountains on the opposite side of the valley, but
brought out with intense distinctness every separate
leaf upon the trees, every tile upon the farthest house
tops, and every blade of grass in the piazza below.
These flashes, for the first ten minutes, followed each
other at intervals of not longer than fifteen seconds, and
sometimes of intervals of five ; so that it almost seemed
as if there were flashes of darkness as well as flashes of
light. The church-bells, as usual, were rung as long as

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 239

the storm lasted ; but the thunder-peals overlapped
each other so continually, and were echoed and re
echoed in such a grand way from the amphitheatre of
mountains round about, that one only heard them now
and then for a moment. By and by — at the end of
perhaps forty minutes — there came a deafening final
explosion, as if a mountain had blown up ; and after
that, heavy rain, and only rain, till about two
o'clock A.M.
At half-past six, however, when we rode out of
Agordo, the weather was as brilliant as ever. Long
fleets of white clouds were sailing overhead before
the wind. The air had that delicious freshness which
follows a thunderstorm in summer. The trees, the
grass, the wild-flowers, even the mountains, looked
as if their colours had just been dashed in with a
wet brush, and so left for the sun to dry them.
Our way lay across the Cordevole bridge and then up
a steep path, very narrow, partly paved, and shaded on
both sides by barberry bushes, wild briars all in blos
som, and nut trees already thick with clusters of new
fruit. Monte Lucano, in form like a younger brother
of the Pelmo, towered high into the morning mist on the
one hand, and the wild peaks of Monte Pizz and Monte
Agnara peered out fitfully now and then upon the other.
Thus we reached and passed Voltago — a picturesque
village surrounded by green firwoods and slopes of
Indian corn. In the valley below gleamed Agordo,
with its white dome ; and against the Eastern horizon
rose the pinky peaks of Monte Lasteie, the shadowy
ridge of Monte Pramper, and the strange, solitary

240 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

needle called the Gusella di Vescova, like a warning
finger pointing to the sky.
Next came a cherry country, thick with orchards full
of scarlet fruit — then a romantic ravine called the Val
Molina — then the scattered village of Frassene, with its
little church in the midst of a mountain prairie, sur
rounded by firwoods. Who would dream of finding a
pianoforte manufactory in such a lost corner of the hills,
or a maker of violins and contrabassi a little way lower
down at Voltago ? Yet at Frassene, one Giuseppe
Dalla Lucia turns out pianos of respectable repute, and
the fiddles, little and big, of Valentino Conedera of
Voltago are said to be of unusual excellence.
And now, as we ride across this space of pleasant
meadowland, the mists part suddenly overhead, and
reveal a startling glimpse of three enormous pallid
obelisks, apparently miles high against the blue. These
are the peaks of the Sasso di Campo, one of the Primi-
ero giants, as yet unascended, and estimated by Ball at
something little short of 10,000 feet above the level of
the sea. The mists part and close again ; the peaks
stand out for one moment in brilliant sunshine, and then
melt like things of air ! It is our first and last sight of
the Sasso di Campo.
The path, always rising, now winds through a
wooded district, stony but shady, the haunt of gorgeous
butterflies. Higher still, it becomes a tunnel of green
ery, only just wide and high enough for man and mule.
The larches meet and rustle overhead ; tiny falls trickle
deliciously from rock to rock, and gush every now and
then across the path ; while the banks on each side are

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. i/^\
tapestried all over with rich mosses, wild strawberries,
and pendent festoons of Osmunda, oak, and beech ferns.
If the footway were not so steep and slippery, and the
work so heavy for the mules, no place could be imagined
more delicious on a day like this ; for it grows hotter
every hour, as the sun climbs and the vapours roll away.
But the pull is too long and too difficult ; and the path
in many places resolves itself into a mere broken stair
case of wet rock up which the two Nessols, though
riderless, clamber and struggle with the utmost diffi
culty. At length one last great step is surmounted, and an
immense park-like plateau scattered over with clumps
of larches and firs, threaded by numberless tiny tor
rents, and radiant with wild-flowers, opens away for
miles before our eyes, like a rolling sea of rich green
sward. This is the summit of the Gosalda pass. The
village of Gosalda, a rambling hamlet lying high on the
mountain-side, facing Monte Pizzon, Monte Prabello
and the valley of the Mis, is reached about two miles
farther on. Here we put up for the regular midday
rest at a very humble little albergo ; where, however,
we are well content to take possession of a clean land
ing, a deal table, a couple of wooden chairs, and an
open window commanding a magnificent view over the
valley and the mountains beyond. We ask, as usual,
for bread, cheese, and wine ; explaining that the wine
is for the men, and that we require tea-cups and spoons
for ourselves ; but the landlady, a stupid, civil body with
a goitre, shakes her head and stands bewildered.
" Tazze ? " she repeats, wonderingly. " Tazze ? "

242 UNTRODDEN PEAKS <S- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

Finding it impossible to make her understand what
tazze are, I sketch a cup and spoon upon the white
washed wall ; whereupon she triumphantly supplies us
with two pudding basins and two metal gravy spoons
of enormous size, so that we look like comic characters
taking tea in a pantomime.
" Ecco ! you carry fire about with you ! " exclaims
this child of nature, staring at the blazing Etna with
the open-mouthed astonishment of a savage.
Not caring to enter into an explanation of the nature
and uses of spirits of wine, I venture to remind her of
the bread, and enquire if she has yet served the men
with their wine.
She nods and then shakes her head again, with a
pause between.
"Vino, si," she replies, oracularly. " Pane, no."
(Wine, yes ; bread, no.)
It seems only reasonable to suggest that, having no
bread in the house, she should send out for some imme
diately. But no. She wags not her head this time,
but her fore-finger— a gesture purely Italian. It is of
no use to send out for bread. There is none to be had.
There is none in the " paese." No one has any — no
one in Gosalda. Not even the paroco. It all comes
up from the valley — when they have any. It ought to
come up twice a week ; but the baker is not always
punctual. It is now five days since he came last, and
there is not a crust left in the village.
" But why do you not make your own bread up here
in Gosalda ? " I asked, when she came to the end of
this astounding statement.

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 243

" Eh, Signora, we have no baker."
" And what do you eat when the baker does not
come ? "
" Eh, Signora — we eat polenta."
Happily, we had a little bread in the luncheon basket ;
but less than usual, having given some to the mules
after their hard scramble up the pass. We were better
off, however, than Giuseppe and Clementi, who got
nothing : — not even a dish of polenta. And this in a
village numbering at least some four or five hundred
souls. The peasants of the mountain district between
Agordo and Primiero seemed, so far as one could judge
in a single day's journey, altogether poorer, dirtier, and
more ignorant than elsewhere. Most of those whom
we passed on the road, or saw at work in the fields, had
goitres ; and few understood anything but their own
barbarous patois. Even the landlady of the Gosalda
albergo, though she was no doubt superior to many of
her neighbours, spoke very little intelligible Italian,
and had no kind of local information to give. Being
asked the name of the noble mountain that formed
the main feature of the view before her windows, she
replied first that it was the Monte Cereda ; then that
it was the Sasso di Mis ; and finally admitted that
she did not know for certain whether it had a name
at all. Yet this was a question which she must have
been continually called upon to answer. The moun
tain, however, as set down in Ball's map, proved to be
the Monte Prabello, the highest point of which (called
sometimes II Pizz, and sometimes II Pizzocco) rises,

p 2

244 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
according to Mayr, to a height of 6733 feet above the
sea-level. A second pass — the Passo della Cereda — yet lies be
tween us and Primiero. The distance is reported to
be about two hours and a half from Gosalda, and a
good mule-track all the way. The path begins pretty
well, being steep but shady, and winding up between
rocky banks, high hedges, and overarching trees.
This, however, is too pleasant to last ; and soon it
begins to exhibit in an exaggerated degree all the
worst features of the worst parts of the Gosalda pass.
The Gosalda pass was steep ; but the Cereda pass
is infinitely steeper. The Gosalda pass was wet
underfoot ; but the Cereda pass is for miles neither
more nor less than the bed of a small torrent. Nor
are other and larger torrents wanting ; for twice we
have to dismount and make our way on foot from
stone to stone across rushing streams some thirty feet
in width.
The wonder is that anyone should be found to live in
a place so difficult of access ; yet we continually pass
cottages, and clusters of cottages by the wayside ; and
the great valley down below is quite thickly populated.
One woman standing at her garden gate nursing a
wizened baby of about six months old, enquires eagerly
where we come from, and if we do not find it a " brutto
paese ? "
Being assured, however, that the Signoras consider
it not " brutto " but " bellissimo," she is struck quite
dumb with amazement.
"And where — oh! where are you going?" is her

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 245

next question, asked with a frenzied kind of eagerness,
as if her life depended on the answer.
I reply that we are going to Primiero, Predazzo, Vigo,
and other places.
"To Primiero!" she repeats, breathlessly. "To
Predazzo ! Jesu Maria ! What a number of bad roads
you have before you ! "
So saying, she leans out over the gate, and watches us
with unfeigned compassion and wonder as long as we
remain in sight.
Now the valley sinks lower, and the mountains rise
higher with every step of the way. The road achieves
an impossible degree of steepness. The mules, left to
themselves, climb in the cleverest way, and act as
pioneers to those on foot. At last comes a place which
can no longer be described as a road but a barrier ;
being in truth the last rock-wall below the plateau to
which we have all this time been mounting. Here even
the mules have to be helped ; and, partly by pushing,
partly by pulling, reach the top at last.
And now another great prairie, somewhat like the
Gosalda summit, only more wild and barren, opens
away in the same manner and in the same direction,
like the enchanted meadow in the fairy-tale that
stretched on for ever and had no ending. A little
lonely osteria in the midst of this wilderness is joyfully
hailed by our famishing guides, who find here not only
good wine but good white bread, and plenty of it.
It has to be a short rest, however, for the day is
advancing and we have already been nine hours on the
road, including halts.

246 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

" How long is it now to Primiero ? " asks Giuseppe,
as we are moving off again.
To which the good woman replies in the self-same
words as she of Gosalda : —
" Two hours and a half!"
As a rule, the finest wild flowers throughout these
mountain districts love exposed situations, and flourish
most luxuriantly on heights not far below the limit of
vegetation. On the Cereda, instead of growing in rich
confusion as at other places, they separate into distinct
masses ; showing here as a hillside of fire-coloured
lilies ; yonder as a pinky dell of ragged robin ; farther
on still, as a long blue tract of wild vetch interspersed
with slender spires of Canterbury bells. No painter
would dare faithfully to represent these incredible slopes
of alternate rose and gold and blue.
At last the path begins to dip, and our hopes to rise.
Every moment we expect to see the opening of some
green vista with Primiero at the end of it. Meeting a
decently dressed peasant of the farmer class, however,
and putting the same question to him in the same words
as before, we are confounded to receive precisely the
same answer : —
" Circa due ore e mezza, Signore." (About two hours
and a half, ladies.)
Profoundly discouraged, we ride on after this in
mournful silence. It is now more than three hours
since we left Gosalda, and yet we seem to be as far as
ever from Primiero. If we were not tired, if we were
not hungry, if the mules were not beginning to stumble
at every step, the thing would be almost comic ; but as

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 247

it is, we go on funereally, following always the course of
a small torrent, and skirting long pasture tracts dotted
over with brown chalets.
By and by, having made another two or three miles
of way, we come upon a gang of country folk at work
in the new-mown hay. This time Giuseppe raises his
voice, and shouts the stereotyped enquiry. The answer
comes back with crushing distinctness : —
" About three hours."
I begin to think we are under the dominion of some
dreadful spell. I have visions of jogging on for ever,
like a party of Wandering Jews, till all four have become
old, grey, and decrepit. Suddenly Clementi turns round
with an eye bright with smothered glee, and says : —
" Don't you think, Signora, we should get there
quicker if we turned back ? "
It is a small joke ; but it serves to make us merry
over our misfortunes. After this, we put the same
question to everyone we meet — to a group of women
carrying faggots ; to an old man driving a pig ; to a
plump priest riding " sonsily " on an ass, like Sancho
Panza ; to a woodcutter going home with his axe over
his shoulder, like a headsman out of livery. Each, of
course, gives a different answer. One says two hours ;
another two hours-and-a-half ; a third three hours ; and
so on. And then all at once, when we are not in the
least expecting it, we come upon a grand opening and
see Castel Pietra on its inaccessible peak of cloven rock
standing up straight before us. Another moment, and
the valley opens out at an untold depth below — a
glittering vision of chesnut-woods, villages, vineyards,

248 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
and purple mountains about whose summits the storm-
clouds are fast gathering.
" Ecco Primiero ! " says Clementi, pointing to a

CASTEL PIETRA.

many-steepled town at the end of a long white road,
still miles and miles away.
This Castel Pietra — the chromo -lithograph of which,
as seen from the valley, is already familiar to most

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 249

readers in Gilbert and Churchill's book — is the property
of a certain Count Welsperg, by whose ancestors it was
built in the old feudal times, and who still lives in
Primiero. The solitary tooth of rock on which it stands
has split from top to bottom some time within the last
century ; since when it is quite inaccessible. The pre
sent owner, when a young man, succeeded once, and
once only, by the help of ropes, ladders, and workmen
from Primiero, in climbing with some friends to the
height of those deserted towers ; but that was many a
year ago, and since then the owls and bats have garri
soned them undisturbed. The castle stands, a lonely
sentinel, at the opening of the great Dolomite Cul de
Sac, known as the Val di Canali, and is a conspicuous
object from the valley of Primiero.
The final dip down from the Cereda pass is
achieved by means of a stony aud almost perpendicular
road, compared with which the descent from the
Ghemmi on the Leuk side is level and agreeable
walking. Loose stones that roll from beneath the foot,
and abrupt slopes of slippery rock, make it difficult
for even pedestrians with alpenstocks ; but it is worse
still for the mules, which slide and struggle, and scram
ble in a pitiful way, being helped up behind by the ends
of their tails, ignominiously.
At last we reach the level ; hurry along the dusty
road ; pass through the ruinous-looking village of
Tonadigo, and just as the church clocks are striking
seven p.m., ride into Primiero. Here at the " Aquila
Nera," kept by Signora Bonetti, we find rest, good
food, a friendly welcome, and better rooms than the

250 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &¦* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

outside of the house, and above all, the entrance,
would lead one to expect. That entrance is dreadful —
a mere dark arch leading to a goat-stable ; but then
the kitchen and public rooms are on the first floor, and
the visitors' rooms on the second ; so that the house
may be said only to begin one remove above the level
of the street.
It is curious how soon one learns to be content with
these humble Tyrolean albergos, and to regard as
friends, and almost as equals, the kindly folk that keep
them. Nor, indeed, without reason ; for setting aside
that perfume of antique Republicanism which seems yet
to linger in the air of all that was once Venice, the
Tyrolean innkeepers are, for the most part, people of
ancient family who have owned lands and filled respon
sible offices in connection with their native communes
ever since the middle ages. Thus we hear of a Ghe
dina of the Ampezzo holding an important military
command at the beginning of the XVth century. The
Giacomellis who now Keep the "Nave d'Oro" at
Predazzo were nobles some few hundred years ago.
The Pezzes date back as far as Caprile has records to
show, and take their name from the Monte Pezza, on
the lower slopes of which they yet hold the remnant of
their ancient estates. And the Cercenas of Forno di
Zoldo, of whose inn I shall have more to say hereafter,
are mentioned, as we find by Mr. Gilbert's book on
Cadore, in documents more than five hundred years old.
I do not know whether the Bonettis of Primiero claim
either a long bourgeois pedigree or a past nobility ; but
they are particularly courteous and hospitable, and I

TO AGORDO AND PRIMIERO. 251

see no reason for supposing them to be in any respect
less well-born than the others.
It is only right that persons travelling, or intending
to travel, in these valleys should be acquainted with the
foregoing facts. And it would be well if they remem
bered they are not dealing here with innkeepers of the
ordinary continental stamp ; but with persons who are
for the most part quite independent of the albergo as a
source of profit, and ready to receive strangers with a
friendliness that does not appear as an item in the bill.
If the accommodation is primitive, it is at all events the
best they have to offer ; and it is immensely cheap. If
the attendance is not first-rate, there is a pleasant
homeliness about the domestic arrangements which more
than makes up for any little shortcomings in other
ways. The mother of the family generally cooks for
her guests ; the father looks after the stabling ; the
sons and daughters wait at table. All take a personal
interest in one's comfort. All are anxious to oblige.
To treat them with hauteur, or with suspicion, or to
give unnecessary trouble, is both unjust and impolitic.
I have seen old Signora Pezze wounded almost to tears
by the way in which a certain English party secured
all their possessions under lock and key every time
they ventured outside the doors. The same people, on
going away, disputed every item of their moderate bill,
as if, no matter how little they were charged, it was to
be taken for granted that they were being imposed upon
somehow. The ultimate result of such conduct on the part of
our dear country-people is sufficiently obvious. The

252 UNTRODDEN PEAKS <V UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
old innkeeping families will ere long close their houses
against us in disgust ; a class of extortionate specu
lators, probably Swiss, will step in and occupy the
ground ; newer and smarter, but far less comfortable
hotels will spring up like mushrooms in these quiet
valleys ; all direct communication between the native
townsfolk and the travelling stranger will be inter
cepted ; and the simplicity, the poetry, the homely
charm of the Dolomite district will be gone for ever.

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO.

PRIMIERO AND ITS HISTORY — THE EARLY SILVER-WORKERS AND
THEIR OFFERING — TRANSACQUA AND ITS TITIAN — THE PRIMIERO
DOLOMITES — THE VAL DI CANALI — MONTE PAVIONE AND THE VETTE
DI FELTRE — MONTE ARZON — THE PONTE DELLO SCHIOS — A PRIMIERO
PROGRESSIONIST — THE COMING TENOR — SIGNOR SARTORIS AND THE
ART OF APICULTURE — THE UPPER VALLEY OF THE CISMONE — SAN
MARTINO DI CASTROZZA — A SCENE FOR A GHOST STORY — THE CIMON
DELLA PALA — THE COSTONZELLA PASS — THE HOSPICE OF PANE-
VEGGIO— THE VAL TRAVIGNOLO — PREDAZZO.

CHAPTER X.
PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO.
The town of Primiero lies partly in the plain, and
partly climbs the hill upon which the church is built.
The houses in the flat have a semi-Venetian character,
like the houses at Ceneda and Longarone. The
houses on the hill are of the quaintest German Gothic,
and remind one of the steep-roofed, many-turreted medi
aeval buildings in Albert Durer's backgrounds. This
curious juxtaposition of dissimilar architectural styles is
accounted for by the fact that Primiero, in itself more
purely Italian than either Caprile or Agordo, was
transferred to Austria and partly colonized by German
operatives about the latter end of the 14th Century.
The Tedeschi, drafted hither for the working of a
famous silver mine, took root, acquired wealth, built
the church, and left their impress on the place, just as
the Romans left theirs in Gaul, and the Greeks in
Sicily. The early history of Primiero — how it became subject
first to the Goths; then to the Lombards; next (a.d.
1027) to the Bishops of Trent ; next again (a.d. 1300)
to the Scaligeri of Verona ; then (a.d. 1315) to Prince

256 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

Charles of Luxembourg ; and finally to an Archduke of
the house of Hapsburg — is but a repetition of the his
tory of most places along the line of the Bellunese
frontier. That the valley was at least twice or thrice
invaded, and Castel Pietra as often besieged, by the
Venetians is also matter of history. It does not appear,
however, that Primiero ever became an actual appanage
of the great Republic, although the neighbouring village
of Transacqua (which is indeed almost a suburb of
Primiero, and is only separated from the town by the
Cismone and a meadow or two) was ceded to, and held
by, Venice in undisputed right for a length of time both
before and after the date when the rest of the valley
passed into the strong grasp of Austria — a grasp un
loosened to this day.
For Primiero — so Italian in its scenery, its climate,
its language, its national type — is Austrian still. We
passed the frontier somewhere about half-way between
the village of Gosalda and the osteria on the Cereda
pass ; but there was no black and yellow pole to mark
the boundary, and we re-entered the dominions of the
Emperor Francis Joseph without knowing it.
So lately as the month of July, 1872, Primiero
was as inaccessible for wheeled vehicles as Venice.
Whatever there may be now, there was then no line
of unbroken carriage road leading to or from the
valley in any direction. Be your destination what
it might, you could drive but a few miles this way, or a
few miles that ; and then must take to either the alpen
stock or the saddle. In short, every avenue to the outer
world was barred by a circle of passes, all of which

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 257

were practicable to mules, but not one practicable
throughout for even carettini. A fine military road is,
however, now in course of construction between Pri
miero and Predazzo, so that a direct communication
for vehicles will soon be established with Neumarkt on
the Botzen and Brenner line. This road was already
open last summer as far as the Hospice of San Martino,
and was in progress for some miles farther. Perhaps
by now it may reach as far as the Val Travignolo.*
Another excellent road runs southward from Primiero
to Pontetto, the limit of the Austrian frontier ; but
there, unfortunately, it is joined on the Italian side by a
steep and very rough mule-track which continues as far
as Fonzaso. From Fonzaso, however, another carriage-
road leads to Feltre, and at Feltre one is in the centre
of network of fine highways radiating to Belluno,
Treviso, Bassano and Trient.
Less than ten years ago, Primiero was even more
primitive than now. The daily posts, we are told, came
in and went out on mule-back. No rattle of wheels
disturbed the silent streets ; no wheel-tracks scarred the
pavement. At night, the good townsfolk went about
with little twinkling lanthorns, and hung an oil-lamp
here and there outside their doors. Things are not quite
so Arcadian now. The letter-bags are carried for at least
a few miles down the valley in a light caretta ; the

* This road has long been completed. It is traversed by a daily diligence
which goes in 1 1 hours from Predazzo to Primiero, returning from Primiero
at 5 "30 P.M., and stopping for the night at San Martino di Castrozza. An
omnibus also plies, twice daily (in 8 hours), between Primiero and Feltre ;
but this last runs only in summer. (Note to Second Edition.) Q

258 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &° UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
rattling of wheels has ceased to be regarded as a phe
nomenon ; a gasometer has been erected near (too near)
the entrance to the town ; and the inhabitants are doing
all they can to get a telegraphic wire in connection with
Feltre. The town is very clean, cheerful and picturesque. In
the piazza on the flat, and in some of the side-streets
(for there are side-streets in Primiero), one sees many
large and really good houses. They call them Palazzos.
Some of these are built over great cavernous arched
entrances, and lighted by Venetian twin-windows
with ogive arched tops and twisted pillars. Some are
enriched with elegant balconies of wrought iron ; and
on one door I observed an elaborate knocker and two
handles in the form of half-length female figures of ex
quisite workmanship.
The German houses going up the hill — the foot-
pavement of which, by the way, consists of squares of
wood — are quite different. They have tiny windows
filled with circular glass panes about three inches in
diameter, and high steep roofs pierced by rows of
dormers and surmounted by fantastic weather-cocks.
The ancient Fiirst Amt, with its quaint oriel turrets,
loop-holed walls, mediaeval windows, and rows of
frescoed shields charged with faded armorial bearings,
would be quite in its proper place if transported to
Wiirtzburg or Ulm. This curious building, which
stands at the top of the hill just over against the church,
was erected by the early silver-workers, probably as a
kind of fortified guard-house, and as a place of deposit
for their store of precious metal.

S5>. \

;- ' M

PRIMIERO.

[P. 258.

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 261
Many houses, both on the hill and down in the flat,
are decorated externally with friezes and arabesques of
a simple character ; while over almost every house-door
is painted up this pious phrase : — " Christus Nobiscum
Stat." Our first day in Primiero befell upon a Sunday. The
church-bells began ringing merrily before five a.m., and
went on till ten. The streets were thronged with pea
sants in their holiday clothes ; and in the piazza sat a
group of country-women with baskets of crimson
cherries, little golden pears, and green lettuces for sale.
It was a gay and animated scene. The men, with their
knee-breeches, white stockings, conical felt hats, and
jackets loosely thrown across one shoulder like a cloak,
looked as if they had just stepped out of one of Pinelli's
etchings. Some wore a crimson sash about the waist,
and some a bunch of flowers and feathers in the hat.
The women wore white cloths upon their heads tied
corner-wise, and had the hair cut across the forehead in
a Sevigne fringe. Their voices were curiously alike —
soft, deep, and guttural. Looking in at the church-door
while mass was being performed, I saw the whole nave
as one sea of white head-dresses, and for the moment
fancied myself peeping once more into the chapel of the
Beguinage at Bruges.
It is a gloomy church ; externally more Tyrolean than
German, with an unusually high steep roof and lofty
spire ; internally, of a severe, well-proportioned, thir
teenth-century Gothic. Two recessed and canopied
state-pews of old carved oak stand on either side of
the principal entrance, facing the East window and
Q 2

262 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
the altar ; and the armorial bearings of the silver-
workers are emblazoned again on the walls of the
chancel. Having heard much of a certain antique silver
Mostranz (or portable shrine for the exhibition of the
Host) made of the pure silver of the Primiero mines
and presented to the church by these same silver-
workers some six hundred years ago, we waited till
the congregation had dispersed, and then asked to be
permitted to see it. A grave and gentlemanly young
priest received us in the sacristy, and the Mostranz
was taken out of a greak oak press, as old apparently
as the church itself. This curious historical relic,
preserved uninjured throughout all the vicissitudes of
the middle ages, stands about two feet high — a light
Gothic spire, in form somewhat like the spire of Milan
Cathedral ; surmounted by a gilt cross ; and wrought
into a multitude of delicate little pinnacles enclosing
tiny niches peopled with figures of Evangelists and
Saints. Our curiosity gratified, we thanked the young
Paroco and took our leave ; whereupon, drawing him
self up in a stately fashion, he wished us " Viaggio
sano, buon divertimento, e salute " : — a kind of limited
benediction fitted for the dismissal of well-dressed
heretics. It was impossible not to be continually startled that
Sunday morning by the repeated discharges of
musketry and small cannon which kept waking the
mountain echoes round about, especially just before
and after high mass. These came from the little

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 263
hamlet of Transacqua on the other side of the Cismone,
where the villagers were making high festa in honour
of the arrival of a new Paroco. Walking that way
towards evening, we found a green triumphal arch
erected at the opening of the Transacqua road on the
farther end of the bridge, and another at the entrance
to the village. The porch was also festooned with gar
lands and devices.
All was now still. The Paroco had gone to his new
home, and the villagers to their cottages. We strolled
into the empty church, and saw by a little written notice
wafered against the door that it was dedicated to St.
Mark — as might be expected in a parish that had once
been a dependency of Venice.
" The Signoras have come to see our Titian," said a
croaking voice at my elbow; "but it is too dark — too
dark ! It should be seen at midday, when the light
comes in through the side-window."
I turned, and saw a shrivelled, slipshod sexton, all
in black, with a big key in his hand. He had
come to lock the church up, and found the forestieri
inside. Every insignificant little town, every obscure village
that has ever belonged to Venice has its pretended
Titian to show. Setting aside the Titians of Pieve di
Cadore, which are unquestionably genuine, and one at
Zoppe of which I shall have to tell by-and-by, there
are dozens of others scattered through the country
which it would be flattery to describe as even copies.
There was one to be seen the other day, for instance,
at Cencenighe ; but having heard that it was more

264 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
than doubtful, we preferred resting in the shelter of the
albergo to toiling up to the church in the broiling sun
shine. The altar-piece at Transacqua is an ideal portrait of
St. Mark, only the head and hands of which, however,
are claimed as the work of Titian. It is said to have
been presented to the church by one of the Doges of
Venice. It looks a poor thing, seen thus in the
gathering dusk ; but the light is so bad that one
may as well give its authenticity the benefit of the
doubt. The view from the bridge at evening, looking over
towards Castel Pietra and the mountains at the head of
the Primiero valley, is singularly wild and beautiful.
The Cima Cimeda, bristling all over with peaks and
pinnacles, like a porcupine ; the Sass Maor, a mighty
double-headed monster, compared by Mr. Leslie
Stephen to the upraised finger and thumb of a gigantic
hand; the Cima di Ball, so called after the dauntless
author of the "Alpine Guide;" and a long array of
other summits, many of which are nameless to this day,
here climb against the sky in strangest outline, and
take the last glow of the Western sun.
I name them here from after knowledge ; but, so
many and so bewildering are these Primiero Dolomites,
that it is not till one has been a day or two in the
place, and has seen them again and again from various
points of view, that one comes to identify them with
anything like certainty. The Sass Maor — a corruption
of Sasso Maggiore, or Great Rock — must, however,
be excepted from this general assertion. It is a moun-

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 265

tain which, once seen, can never be mistaken for any
other ; but which at the same time, is only to be
viewed under its most extraordinary aspect from either
the Val Pravitale or the Val di Canali — two
diverging forks of the great upper valley behind
Castel Pietra.
This use of the word " Canali," as applied to streams
and torrents flowing in their own natural beds, affords a
curious instance, among many others, of how the im
press of Venetian thought yet lingers throughout these
parts of Southern Tyrol. To the citizen of Venice,
every river and rivulet was a canal ; and where Venice
gave her laws, she gave her phraseology also. But. this
by the way.
We devoted the Monday following our arrival to the
Val di Canali, which is undoubtedly the great sight
of Primiero. The way thither lies through Tonadigo,
along the road by which we came down that weary
Saturday evening, and up the stony steep crowned by
Castel Pietra. Once at the top, we bear away almost
due north, leaving to the right the path leading to the
Cereda pass, and striking up behind the castle along
the left bank of a rapid torrent rushing down toward
the valley.
Having followed this track for about three-quarters
of an hour, we emerge upon an open space of grassy
lawn about a mile in breadth by perhaps a mile and
a-half in length, at the upper end of which stands a
modest white house surrounded by sheds and farm-
buildings. This little summer residence has been
built of late years by Count Welsperg, who also owns a

266 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &• UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
" palazzo " in Primiero, and whose ancestors (once
seigneurs of all the valley, with power of life and death
over their vassals) erected yonder castle which, perched
on its inaccessible rock like St. Simeon Stylites on his
solitary pillar, yet keeps watch and ward at the mouth
of the valley. Dark fir-slopes enclose this pleasant
prairie round about ; the torrent brawls unseen in a
bushy hollow to the left ; cows and goats browse here
and there on the green turf ; while the whole pastoral
scene is " set," as it were in a cirque of Dolomite peaks
of the first magnitude — a cirque with which the Circa
Malcora, grand as it is, will not bear a moment's com
parison. For the mountains surrounding the Val
Buona lie out in a wide amphitheatre ; but here the
shattered walls of Dolomite, all grey and sulphur-
streaked, and touched with rusty red, close in upon the
valley in two long serried ranks, not more than a
mile and a-half apart at their widest point, and nar
rowing till they meet in the form of an acute angle at
the head of the glen.
Here, where the sward is smooth and the space yet
broad between, two converging lines of peaks are
already arrayed before our eyes — one extending nearly
due East and West ; the other running up from the
South-East to meet it. The first is far the grandest.
Beginning with the Cima Cimeda — from behind which
the Sass Maor shoots out its extraordinary impending
thumb, more off the perpendicular than the leaning
tower of Pisa — the chain leads on in one unbroken
sweep, giving first a more distant glimpse of the Pala
di San Martino ; coming next upon the magnificent

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 267
Cima di Fradusta ; next after that upon two nameless
lower peaks broken up into sheafs of splintered arrow
heads ; lastly upon the Cima di Canali, apparently
loftiest of all the range as seen from this point. +
* The loftiest of all the Primiero peaks (and indeed of all known Dolo
mites, except the Marmolata, which is supposed to exceed it by about 50 or
60 feet) is the Cimon della Pala, rising 1 i,oco feet above the level of the sea.
But the Cimon della Pala is not seen from the Val di Canali, but lies up
north of the Pala di San Martino in the upper valley of the Cismone. The
relative heights of those peaks visible from the Val di Canali, as far as at
present ascertained, are as follows : — Sass Maor about 10,000 feet ; Pala di
San Martino, 10,643 feet ; Cima di Fradusta, something over 10,500 feet ;
Cima di Canali, about the height of the last named, but probably a few feet
loftier. The height of the Sasso di Campo, which closes the head of the
valley, is estimated at about 9,900 feet. Of these, so far as I have been able
to gather from Alpine-Club authorities, the Sass Maor, Pala di San Martino,
and Sasso di Campo have certainly not yet been ascended. In the last
published edition of Ball's Guide to the Eastern Alps, 1870, p. 454, the Val
di Canali is thus described : — " The main branch of the Cismone descending
from nearly due N., receives a torrent from the N.E., issuing from Val di
Canali. In the fork between these two branches rise the wonderful group of
Dolomite peaks which must ever make this one of the most extraordinary of
mountain valleys. Whatever fantastic forms that rock may assume else
where, they are here surpassed in boldness and strangeness. Of the five or
six highest, all much exceeding 10,000 feet in height, there is but one that
seems accessible. The others are mere towers or obelisks of rock, with
sheer vertical faces, or else, as the highest peak, fashioned like a ruinous
wall, abruptly broken away at one end, and cleft at frequent intervals along
the ridge by chasms that appear perfectly impassable. In rock-climbing it
is never safe to declare any place impracticable without actual trial. Narrow
ledges and clefts give footing to a bold climber on many a seemingly im
practicable declivity ; but the writer's impression as to the Primiero peaks
is confirmed by two of the most experienced mountaineers, Mr. F. F.
Tuckett and Melchior Anderegg."
This reference to Mr. Tuckett's verdict is also alluded to in Mr. Leslie
Stephen's article on " The Peaks of Primiero " in the Alpine Journal for
February, 1870. The same story was repeated to myself by a Primiero guide,
with the further addition that " il Tuckett " had said the Sass Maor could
never be climbed " till a bridge was thrown across the chasm that divides
the lower from the higher peak." All these tales, however, Mr. Tuckett, in
reply to my own direct enquiry, emphatically refutes ; adding that he never

268 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

No glaciers""' find a resting place among these per
pendicular precipices. Only a narrow ledge outlined
in white, or a tiny intermediate plateau sheeted with
dazzling snow, serves here and there to mark the line
of eternal frost.
Two small but very curious features in the scene
deserve mention : these are two circular holes, one just
piercing the top of a solitary sabre-blade splinter jutting
out from a buttress of the anonymous peak next before
the Cima di Canali on the left of the valley ; and
another precisely similar peep-hole piercing a precisely
similar sabre-blade jutting out from a spur of the Sasso
Ortiga on the right of the valley, precisely opposite.
critically examined the Primiero peaks except the Pala di San Martino, the
Cimon della Pala, and the Cima di Fradusta, which last he ascended alone.
—A. B. E.
Note to Second Edition : — The following are the latest and most accu
rate determinations of the Primiero peaks by the new Austrian survey : —

Cima di Vezzana

• 3i9i :

metres.

Cimon della Pala

3186

j>

Pala di San Martino

2997

);

Cima di Fradusta

• 2930 1

:o 2937 metres.

Rosetta .

2740 :

metres.

Cima di Ball

2693

!>

Cima Cimeda

2499

55

Sass Maor .

2816

5'

Passo della Val di Roda

2568

J>

Figlio di Rosetta

• 2469

5?

Passo Venezia

2298

5)

According to Baedeker's "Guide to The Eastern Alps" (1888), most of
these mountains have been ascended since the first edition of this book was
published. The Pala di San Martino was first ascended in 1878 by Herr
Meurer and the Marchese Pallavicini. — A. B. E.
* Mr. F. F. Tuckett has pointed out to me that a small, and apparently a
permanent, accumulation of ice, scarcely to be dignified by the name of a
glacier, is to be found near the Pala di San Martino. (Note to Second
Edition.)

p,iWM

Pala di San Martino
Sass Maor. Cima di Fradusta.
Cima Cimeda. Cima di Sedol.

Cima di Canali.

PANORAMIC VIEW OF VAL DI CANALI.

270 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fr UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
What may be the actual diameter of these strange
holes, I am unable to guess ; but they look as clean cut,
and about as large, as a shot-hole made by a large
cannon-ball. Anyone who has ever visited the valley
of Grindelwald will remember a similar orifice, locally
known as Martinsloch, in the crest of the Eigher.
Waiting here only long enough to get the accom
panying outline of the range as seen from Count
Welsperg's meadow, we again push on ; for clouds are
already beginning to gather about the summit of the
Cima di Canali, and we are still far from the head of
the valley. Hence the path lies for a long way in the
shade of the fir-woods ; then by the side of the torrent
bed — here very wide, and bordered by a broad tract of
glaring white stones ; then through more woods, with
openings here and there through which the great moun
tains are seen to be ever closing in, nearer and loftier.
For the farther one penetrates up this wonderful glen
the more overwhelming is the effect, till the whole cul
minates at last in a scene of savage grandeur unsur
passed, if I may venture to say so, by even the great
impasse at Macugnana.
By the time we reach this ultimate point, however,
the rapid mists have already gathered in a way which,
though it enhances the mystery and sublimity of the
view, is yet sufficiently disappointing at the end of more
than three hours' journey. The Sasso di Campo,
which we are destined never to see clearly, is so
shrouded in dense vapours that only the lower flanks of
it are seen reaching up into the gloom. The huge
Cima di Canali, visible less than an hour ago, towers

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 271

overhead, already half lost in a heavy grey cloud. A
long serrated line of stony Col uniting these two great
masses, shows all striated and ribbed by the action of
pre-historic glaciers. Green pastures, and above these,
dark fir-woods, climb to about one third of the height of
the Cima di Canali ; while innumerable threads of white
waterfall are seen leaping from ledge to ledge and
wavering down the cliffs in every direction. These
waters, gathered into three roaring torrents, hence rush
down from three different points, and unite somewhat
lower in one broad impetuous stream. The sound of
them fills the air like the roaring of the sea upon an
ironbound coast. The fir-trees shiver, as if a storm
were at hand. I doubt if a more lonely, desolate, and
tremendous scene is to be found this side of the Andes.
So many interesting excursions may be made from
Primiero, that the traveller who has only two or three
days to dispose of cannot hope to achieve even the half
of them, The place, indeed, is one to be chosen for a
lengthened sojourn, and treated as headquarters till the
neighbourhood is exhausted. We regretted at the time
that it was not in our power to do so. The ascent of
Monte Pavione (an uncommon looking mountain, in
shape like a stunted pyramid, lying away to the S. of
Primiero, and forming the highest point of the range
known as the Vette di Feltre) is said not to be difficult.
The view from the summit commands the whole sweep
of the Adriatic coast from the mouth of the Isonzo at
the head of the Gulf of Trieste on the one side, to
Chioggia, twenty miles south of Venice on the other.
Many rarest plants are also to be found on the mountain,

272 UNTRODDEN PEAKS <5r» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
amongst which the following are enumerated by Ball : —
Anemone baldensis, Anemone narcissiflora, Ranunculus
Seguieri and Ranunculus Thora, Delphinium montanum,
Papaver pyrenaicum, Arabis puinila, Alyssum Wulfenia-
num, Cochlearia brevicaulis, Alsine lanceolata, Alsine
graminifolia, Cerastium tomentosum, Phaca frigida, Poten-
tilla nitida, Saxifraga petrcea, Valeriana elongata, Ptar-
mica oxyloba, Scorzonera purpurea, Pcederota Ageria,
Pcederota Bonarota, Pedicularis rosea, Primula Facchinii,
Cortusa Matthioli, A vena Hostii, and Asplenium Seelosii.
This excursion involves a night, and a hay-bed in a
chalet on the Agnerola Alp at the foot of the Pavione
rocks ; but this is a difficulty that would not have
deterred us, had we been travelling in a larger party.
The ascent of Monte Arzon, a mountain rising about
8,700 feet, and situated in a fine central position about
three miles N.W. of Primiero, is also strongly recom
mended by the local guides.
A very interesting excursion, however, and one which
can be accomplished all the way on mules, is to the
Ponte dello Schios on Monte Vederne, a small wooded
mountain bordering the west bank of the Cismone,
about three miles below Primiero. The way thither
lies along the main road as far as the villages of
Mezzano and Imer ; thence over the Cismone bridge,
and up a rough caretta track all black underfoot from
charcoal droppings, which skirts the pine-slopes over
hanging the gorge of the Noana. The path rises and
winds continuously. The Primiero valley is left behind
and soon lost to sight. The torrent down below
becomes inaudible. We meet a train of mules laden

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 273

with huge black sacks of charcoal, and have to back up
against the rock to let them pass. They, however,
according to the nature of mules, prefer the brink of the
precipice, and pick their way past with half their bulky
burdens overhanging the abyss.
At length, when we have mounted to the height of
perhaps fifteen hundred feet above the valley, we pass
under an impending roof of rock, and find ourselves at
the mouth of a gigantic cavern which looks as if it
might have been scooped out by some mighty water-
power ages ago, when the world was yet unfinished.
Beyond this cavern there rises a semi-circular wall of
vertical precipice, at the end of which a small cascade
leaps out over the ledge and is dispersed in mist before
it reaches the brown pool below. Our path turns
abruptly into and round the inside of the cavern, and then
along a giddy wooden shelf supported on pine-trunks
driven into the face of the rock-wall opposite. This is
the Ponte dello Schios. The shelf looks horribly unsafe,
but is extremely picturesque ; and the whole scene,
though on a grander scale, reminds one of the cavern
and wooden gallery at Tivoli. A little carved and
painted Christ under a pent-house roof is fixed against
the rock, just at the beginning of the bridge ; and an
old white-haired man coming down that way, pulls off
his hat and stays to mutter an Ave as we pass.
From this point, a short ascent of about another
thousand feet would bring us out, we are told, upon the
Agnerola Alp ; but we dare go no farther, for the sun is
already near setting, and we fear to be overtaken by the
dusk. Still it is none the less tantalising to find that

274 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
we have made nearly one third of the ascent to Monte
Pavione without knowing it.
Leaving Primiero for Predazzo .... but stay ; how
can I leave Primiero without one word of Signor
Prospero ? — Signor Prospero, genial, fussy, courteous,
enthusiastic, indefatigable, voluble ; Signor Prospero,
whose glory it is to be a member of the Italian Club
Alpino ; who believes the British nation to be the most
enlightened that the sun shines upon ; who so worships
the very name of Ball and Leslie Stephen that he all
but takes his hat off when he mentions them, as if they
were his patron saints ; who vaguely imagines that
every English tourist must be in some way or other
illustrious ; that all our autographs are worth having ;
and that the universal family of Smith represents the
flower of the human race !
Shall I ever forget that blazing afternoon when,
gaitered, white-hatted, his garments buttoned all awry,
and a striped silk umbrella under his arm, he escorted
me to Signor Sartoris's museum and apiary ? — or that
evening when he came to call, and we entertained him
on the landing, and he talked for two hours without
stopping about State Education, the Darwin theory,
the Calculating Machine, Capital punishment, Pre
historic Man, the Atlantic cable, Universal Suffrage,
Positivism, the Solar Spectrum, the Alabama claims,
the sources of the Nile, the Prussian military system,
Liberty of the Press, the Armstrong gun, the Suez
canal, the Eruption of Vesuvius, and the Rights of
Women ! A kindly, benevolent, public-spirited old
man, eager to promote something like culture and

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 275
progress in his native town, and interested in all that
stirs the great outer world beyond his ken ! To
establish a more rapid system of postal communication,
to get the wire brought over from Feltre, to improve
the teaching in the Primiero schools, and to found a
local newspaper — these are among the dreams that he
is striving to realise. The little Teatro Sociale (for
Primiero has its tiny amateur theatre and corps drama-
tique) is of his creation, and under his management.
The new road to Predazzo would not have been put in
hand, probably, for the next ten years, but for the
energy with which he was continually agitating the
question in Primiero.
" Ecco, Signora," he said, unconsciously quoting the
dying words of Goethe, " what we want in our little
valley is more light. Our people are not poor, but they
dwell in the darkness of ignorance. We have schools
for the children, it is true ; but then what is to be done
with their parents who regard geography as an inven
tion of — con rispetta — the Devil ! "
I think it was that same evening, when all the lamps
were out and the little world of Primiero had well-nigh
dropped into its first sound sleep, that we heard a
delicious tenor, rich and sweet and powerful, ring out
suddenly through the silence of the night. It began at a
little distance off — died away — came back again — then
ceased close under our windows. The air was Verdi's,
hackneyed and commonplace enough ; but the voice
was fresh and faultless, and belonged, as we learnt next
day, to young Bonetti, the second son of our landlady.
He told us that his name was" already entered on the

276 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
books of the Conservatoire of Milan, and that he was
to begin his vocal studies in November. It is said that
so fine a voice has not been heard within the walls of
the Academy for more than a quarter of a century.
With regard to Signor Sartoris, just named, he seems
to have raised Apiculture to the dignity of a science.
Self-taught, he has discovered how to regulate the pro
ductiveness of the race, and is said to be able, unhurt
and unstung, to take in his hand and transfer from hive
to hive the Queen-bee and her court. How far this may
be true I cannot say ; but I saw his museum and his
apiary — the former a collection of all the bees, beetles,
butterflies, woods, minerals, and chemical products of
the district — the other a Ghetto of hives, one hundred
and fifty in number, containing a population of several
millions of bees, the whole packed into a tiny back-
garden less than an eighth of an acre in extent. His
father and sister show these things with pardonable
pride ; but Signor Sartoris no longer lives in Primiero.
Though not yet thirty years of age, he has been ap
pointed Director of a Government apiary at Milan, and
is there developing his system with extraordinary
success. And now we must say farewell to Primiero and all its
notabilities ; we must say farewell and be going again,
for there are yet many places to be seen and many miles
to be traversed, and the pleasantest tours and the
brightest summers cannot last for ever. So away we
ride again, one bright early morning, overwhelmed
with good wishes and kind offices, and presented by
Signora Bonetti with a parting testimonial in the form

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 277
of a big cake — so big that it can hardly be got into the
basket. Our way lies by the new military road as far as it is
yet completed,"" and along the Val Cismone — that great
valley which descends from the north-west, running
parallel with the Val Pravitale, and divided from it by
the range that ends with the Cima Cimeda. Following
almost the same course at first as the old road, and
crossing the stream near Siror, (where may yet be seen
the entrance to the ancient silver-mine) the new
" strada " then strikes up in a series of bold zigzags,
and is carried at a great height along the precipitous
slopes bordering the west bank of the torrent. Up here,
all is silent, all is solitary. A couple of Austrian gen
darmes — a little group of cantonniers at work upon the
road — a tiny donkey staggering under a gigantic load
of hay ; these are all the living things we meet for
hours. But the great mountains on the opposite side
of the valley keep us solemn company during many a
mile — a wonderful chain of Dolomite peaks, less incre
dible in outline, perhaps, than those of the Val di
Canali, f but rising to a more uniformly lofty elevation.
One by one, we pass them in review. First comes
the Cima Cimeda, called by Mr. Gilbert the Procession
* Now completed. See foot-note, p. 257.
t The relative position of these mountain ranges can only be understood
by reference to the map, where it will be seen that the line of peaks which
ends with the Cima Cimedo on the S., and leads up to the Cimon della Pala
on the N., does not, in point of fact, form any part of the boundaries of the
Val di Canali, but, on the contrary, walls in the W. side of the Val Pravitale.
This range is very imperfectly seen from Primiero, and still more imperfectly
from the Val di Canali, the perspective in both instances being so abrupt as
only to show the peaks in line, one behind the other. R 2

278 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &¦» UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Mountain, but, to my thinking, more like some strange
petrified sea-monster bristling all over with gigantic
feelers ; next come the mighty leaning towers of the
Sass Maor ; then the Cima Cimerla (so called from the
Cimerla woods below), the Cima Pravitale, and the Cima
di Ball, three names as yet not entered in the maps ;
lastly the vast perpendicular wall of the Pala di San
Martino, which rises grander and steeper with every
foot of the road, and seems to fill the scene. At length,
however, we turn away from this great panorama,
through a pine-wood and across a green undulating
Alp all ablaze with gorgeous golden lilies ; and so
arrive at the tiny church and rambling Hospice of San
Martino.* Arriving here after four hours of easy riding, we
pause to take half-an-hour's rest before attacking the
Costonzella pass. It is a large, dirty, ruinous place —
once a monastery ; then a feudal residence ; now an inn
and farm-house combined. It was built somewhere
about the middle of the eleventh century, while Edward
the Confessor was yet reigning here in England, and
when the Bishops of Trent were lords of Primiero. It
was these spiritual rulers who erected the church, the
monastery, and the Hospice, and dedicated them to
San Martino.
Having ordered coffee, we are shown up into a big
upper room at the end of a wilderness of passages. It
has been a grand room once upon a time — perhaps the
* A new hotel has now been added to the Hospice building, and is much
frequented during the summer. San Martino is finely situate and stands at
a much greater altitude .than Cortina. (Note to Second Edition.)

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 279
prior's own snuggery ; perhaps a guest-chamber for
travellers of distinction. The walls and ceiling are all
of oak, panelled in sunk squares ornamented with bosses
and richly carved. A carved shield charged with the
Welsperg arms in faded gold and colours commemorates
the time when the building had ceased to be a monas
tery and became a baronial residence. Old family
portraits of dead-and-gone Welspergs hang all awry
upon the walls and stand piled in corners, draped in
cobwebs and loaded with the dust of years — courtiers
in flowing wigs, prelates in lace, doughty commanders in
shining cuirasses. A certain " Princess Canonicus " in
a religious dress, with long white hands that Vandyke
might almost have painted, must have been pretty in
her day, if the old limner did not flatter her. These by
gone lords and ladies, together with a curious old por
celain stove in blue and white Delft, two squalid beds,
a deal table, and four straw-bottomed chairs, are all the
furniture the room contains. It ought to be a haunted
chamber, and is the very place in which to lay the
scene Of a ghost story. The whole house, indeed, has
a fine murderous look about it, and is as solitary, for
lorn, and mediaeval a place as any sensation novelist
could desire for a rnise en scene.
The good road ends at San Martino ; that is to say,
it extends in an unfinished, impassable state for another
two or three miles ; but we strike straight up the Col by
a bridle-path * leading up a wild glen and over a grassy
* This old bridle-path is still to be preferred by pedestrians to the long
zig-zags and windings of the new road, now completed. See foot-note, p. 257.
(Note to Second Edition.)

280 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
slope thick with crimson Alp-roses, till all at once we
find ourselves on the summit of the pass, standing just
below the base of the Cimon della Pala. The air up
here is cold and rare. The pass rises to a height of
6,657 feet 5 the stupendous Dolomite wall above our
heads towers up to 11,000 feet, of which more than
3,000 feet are sheer, overhanging precipice. In form it
is like a gigantic headstone, with a pyramidal coping-
stone on the top. Terrific vertical fissures which look
as if ready to gape and fall apart at any moment, give
a frightful appearance of insecurity to the whole mass.
Not the Matterhorn itself, for all its cruel look and
tragic story, impresses one with such a sense of danger,
and such a feeling of one's own smallness and helpless
ness, as the Cimon della Pala.
Looking back from this elevation in the direction of
Primiero, we get a wonderful view of the Pala di San
Martino, the Sass Maor, and the summits of the Val di
Canali ; beyond these, the Pavione and the Vette di
Feltre ; and beyond these again, a vast troubled sea of
pale blue and violet peaks, some of which encompass
the lake of Garda, while some watch over the towers of
Verona. And now the clouds, which for the last hour or two
have been gathering at our heels, begin driving up the
pass and scudding across the face of the great Dolomites.
Soon all the lower summits are obscured ; the vapours
roll up in angry masses ; and the huge peaks now
vanish, now look out fitfully, in gloom and storm-
cloud. Passing an unfinished building (presumably a new

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO.

Hospice) on the top of the pass, we emerge upon the
Costonzella Alp. Here an entirely new panorama is
unfolded before our eyes. The great prairie undulates
away to a vast distance underfoot ; to the North opens
another sea of peaks terminating with the summits be
yond Innsbruck ; to the East lie wooded hills and rich
pasturages ; to the West a steep descent of apparently
interminable pine-forest bounded by a new range of
dark, low, purple peaks streaked here and there with
snow. The loftiest and nearest of these is the Monte
Colbricon. It needs no geological knowledge to see at
once that these new mountains are not Dolomite ; or
that we are, in fact, entering upon the first outlying
porphyries of Predazzo.
The path now turns abruptly to the left, and plunges
down through the steep pine forest. Somewhere among
those green abysses, half-way between here and Pre
dazzo, lies the Hospice of Paneveggio, where we are to
dine and take our mid-day rest. On the verge of the
dip we dismount, promising ourselves to walk so far,
and leaving the men and mules to follow. It is a grand
forest. The primeval pines up here are of gigantic size,
rising from eighty to over a hundred feet, enormous in
girth, and garlanded with hoary grey-green moss, the
growth of centuries. Except only the pines close under
the summit of the Wengern Alp on the Grindelwald
side, I have never seen any so ancient and so majestic.
As we descend they become smaller, and after the first
five or six hundred feet, they dwindle to the average size.
A fairly good path, cool and shady, carried down for
a distance of more than 1500 feet in a series of bold

282 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &• UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
zigzags,* and commanding here and there grand
sweeping views of forest slope and valley, brings us at
the end of two hours' rapid walking to an open space of
green pasture, in the midst of which are clustered a wee
church, a pretty white hostelry, and a group of pictu
resque farm-buildings. Steep hillsides of pine-woods
enclose this little nest on every side. There is a
pleasant sound of running water, and a tinkling of cow
bells, on the air. The hay-makers on the grassy slope
behind the house are singing at their work — singing
what sounds like an old German chorale, in four parts.
It is a delicious place ; so peaceful, so pastoral, so
clean, that we are almost tempted to change our plans,
and stay here till to-morrow.
By and by, however, when the two hours have expired
and the mules are brought round, we go on again,
though regretfully. At this point, we enter the Val
Travignolo ; here only a deep torrent-gorge between
steep woods, but broadening out by and by into corn
fields and pasture meadows rich in all kinds of wild
lilies, orange, and silver-white, and pinky turkscaps
speckled with dull crimson. Thus, always descending,
and overtaken every now and then by light showers
followed by bursts of fleeting sunshine, we arrive, at the
end of nearly three more hours, in sight of Predazzo, a
widely scattered village in a green basin at the end of
the valley. It looks like a prosperous place. The
houses are large and substantial, with jutting Tyrolean
eaves. Two church spires rise high above the clustered
roofs. Farm-buildings and Swiss-looking brown chalets
* Pedestrians may avoid the zig-zags by following the telegraph poles.

PRIMIERO TO PREDAZZO. 283
are scattered over the green slopes that circle round
the town ; and as we draw nearer, we find ourselves
traversing an extensive suburb of saw-mills and timber
yards, which here skirt both banks of the torrent.
And now — -following at the tail of a long procession of
grave, cream-coloured cows, all shod like horses with
iron shoes, and carrying enormous bells about their necks
— we make our entry into the town. The children run
out into the road and shout at our approach. The elder
folks come to their house-doors and stare in silence.
The Austrian gendarme at the door of the guard-house
lifts two fingers to the side of his cap in military fashion
as we pass. Then, emerging upon an open space of
scattered houses surrounding the two churches, we find
ourselves at the door of a large, old-fashioned, many-
windowed inn, the very counterpart of the ancient
" Stern " at Innsbruck, over the arched entrance to
which swings a gilded ship— the sign of the Nave
d'Oro.

THE FASSA THAL AND THE
FEDAJA PASS.

A VILLAGE IN A CRATER — PREDAZZO AND ITS COMMERCE — PROSPERITY
VERSUS PICTURESQUENESS — FOOTSTEPS OF THE ETRUSCANS — THE
VAL D'AVISIO — MOENA — THE PORPHYRY OF THE FASSA THAL — VIGO
AND THE FAT MAIDEN — CAMPIDELLO — MONTE VERNAI.E — THE
GORGE OF THE AVISIO — THE FEDAJA ALP AND THE FEDAJA LAKE —
THE GORGE OF SOTTOGUDA AGAIN — HOME TO CAPRILE.

CHAPTER XL
THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS.
The most unscientific observer sees at a first glance
that the lakes of Albano and Nemi occupy the craters
of extinct volcanoes. The craters are there, cup-like,
distinct, and tell their own story. You must climb a
mountain-side to get to the level of them. You stand
on the rim of one ; you look down into it ; you walk all
round it ; or you may descend to the water-level at the
bottom. Nothing can be clearer, or more satisfactory.
But it is startling to be told that Predazzo occupies just
such an extinct crater, and that the mountains which
hem it in on all sides — the Monte Mulat, the Monte
Viesena, the Weisshorn and others — consist of igneous
rock thrown up, lava-like, from that ancient centre at
some incalculably remote period of geologic history.
For here is neither cone, nor mountain, nor amphi
theatre of convergent slopes ; nothing, in short, in the
appearance of either the alluvial flat or the surrounding
heights which may at all correspond to one's precon
ceived ideas of volcanic scenery.
Yet here, as we are told by Richthofen and others,

UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

there must once have been a great eruptive centre,
breaking out again and again, and each time throwing
up a different kind of rock : — first Syenite ; then Tour
maline granite ; then Uralite porphyry ; then melaphyr ;
then, last of all, porphyrite, and the unique Syenite
porphyry, famous for its crystals, and unknown else
where.""' It is this great variety in the material of the Predazzo
rocks, and the immense mineralogical wealth consequent
upon this variety, that have for more than a century
attracted hither so many men of science from all parts
of Europe.
The town — now quiet enough, except as regards its
commercial activity — is said to occupy the centre of the
ancient crater. It stands, at all events, midway
between Cavalese and Moena, just at the junction of the
Fiemme or Fleims valley with the Val Travignolo. It
is a very prosperous place. The people, though an
Italian-speaking race, are wholly Austrian in their
sympathies, and are supposed to come chiefly of a
Teutonic stock. They are particularly intelligent,
industrious, and energetic. They have a fertile valley
which they know how to cultivate, and mountains rich
in mineral products which they are rapidly and success
fully developing. As iron-masters, as hay-merchants,
as wood-contractors, they carry on an extensive Northern
trade, and travel annually for purposes of commerce in

* For a brief and intelligible account of the geology of the Fiemme, Fassa,
Ampezzo, and other S. Tyrolean valleys, I cannot do better than refer the
reader to Mr. G. C. Churchill's " Physical Description of the Dolomite
Regions," which forms the concluding chapter of "The Dolomite Mountains."

THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. 289
Germany, Hungary, Transylvania, and Switzerland.
Large iron-foundries and long lines of busy saw-mills
give an unwonted air of activity to the place. New
works, new yards, new and substantial dwelling-houses,
are rapidly springing up in every direction. A new
Gothic church with a smart roof of gaily coloured
tiles, red, green, and yellow, has lately been erected
on the South side of the village and there become
the centre of an increasing suburb. The schools
are said to be excellent ; and a well-informed priest
from whom I learned most of the foregoing par
ticulars, said the children were full of spirit and
intelligence. He also told me that there were now
no noble families in Predazzo ; but only a wealthy
territorial and commercial middle class. He estimated
the gross population of the Commune at something
over 3000 souls.'5'
Prosperity and picturesqueness, however, are not
wont to travel hand in hand ; and it must be admitted
that these foundries and timber-yards by no means add
to the pastoral beauty of the valley. They spoil it for the
artist, just as the mills and factories of the last twenty
years have spoiled the once romantic valley of Glarus
in Switzerland. Still, down among the wooden houses
in the old part of the village, where the women wash
their vegetables and fill their pitchers at the stone
fountain in the middle of the street, some quaint
Prout-like subjects may yet be found. The old
* In 1888 Baedeker gives the population of Predazzo as only 3335, thus
showing that the place has grown but little since the above was written.
(Note to Second Edition)

290 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
church, with its characteristic Tyrolese belfry and
steep gable-roof, is charmingly mediaeval ; and the
view from the meadows at the back of the Nave
d'Oro, bringing in the two churches and looking
straight up the Val Travignolo to where the Cimon
della Pala and the Cima della Vezzana tower up

PREDAZZO.

against the distant horizon, seemed to me quite worth
a careful sketch.
While I was making the sketch — sitting in the shade
of a little shrine among the field-paths — two Austrian
soldiers came by, and stayed to look on. They were
simple, friendly fellows, natives of Trient, and quartered,
they said, with three others of their regiment, in Pre
dazzo. Not knowing that they acted in the double

THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. 291
capacity of local police and military patrol, I asked what
they could find to do in so peaceful a place.
" Nay, Signora," said the one who talked most, " we
have the work often men upon our hands. Night and
day alike, we patrol the woods, roads, and passes for
twelve miles in every direction. Our rounds are long
and fatiguing — our intervals of rest, very brief. We get
but one day's rest in every seven, and one night in
every four or five."
I afterwards learned that there were five other soldiers
quartered at Cavalese, as many more at Moena, and so
on throughout every petty commune ; and that, accord
ing to the general impression, the men were greatly
overworked. The Nave d'Oro (without disparagement of the inns
at either Caprile or Primiero) was undoubtedly the
best albergo we came upon during the whole tour.
The house is large, clean, and well-furnished ; the
food excellent ; and the accommodation in every way
of a superior character. The landlord — Francesco
Giacomelli by name — is a sedate, well-informed man,
a fair mineralogist and geologist, and proud to tell
of the illustrious savants who have from time to
time put up at his house and explored the neighbour
hood under his guidance. He keeps collections of
local minerals for sale, among which the orthoclase
crystals struck us as being extraordinarily large and
beautiful. Lying among these crystals, in one of Signor Giaco-
melli's specimen-cases, the writer observed a small
penannular bronze bracelet of Etruscan pattern and

292 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
very delicate workmanship, coated with the fine green
rust of antiquity; and learned on enquiry that it had
been discovered with other similar objects in the
cutting of a new road near the neighbouring village of
Ziano. The "find" consisted of a sword, a torque, some
fibulae, a number of bronze pins, and several bracelets;
all of which, with this one exception, were immediately
purchased by a Viennese gentleman who chanced to be
staying in Predazzo at the time. It is singular that no
vases seem to have been found, and no masonry to
indicate that the road-makers had broken into a tomb.
It seemed rather as if some warrior had been hastily
laid in earth, just as he fell. On the other hand, how
ever, this little bracelet (which, being accidentally mis
laid, had escaped the Viennese collector, and so came
to be bought for a few francs by myself) was evidently
a woman's ornament.
It is interesting to know that like traces of the North
ward migration of the Etruscan races when driven by
the Gauls from their settlements on the Po, have been
found at Matrey, Sonnenburg, and other places of S.
Tyrol : — one notable instance being the discovery of an
inscribed bronze bucket near the mouth of the Val Di
Cembra (which is, in fact, a Westward prolongation of
the Fiemme Valley) in 1828. I myself saw, in the little
museum of Signor Sartoris at Primiero, a small ary-
ballos-shaped vase of yellow clay with red ornamenta
tion, which I should undoubtedly take to be of
Etruscan workmanship, and which they told me had
been found by himself in a field not far from the town.

THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. 293

Of the remarkable sepulchral discoveries made at St.
Ulrich in the Grodner-Thal, a.d. 1848, and of Herr
Piirger's interesting Etruscan objects found in those
graves, I shall have to tell farther on.
The Nave d'Oro at Predazzo is a curious old house,
and it has belonged to the Giacomelli family for many
centuries. The Giacomellis, as I have said elsewhere,
were once noble, and their armorial bearings still
decorate many of the old carved doorways, ceilings
and chimney-pieces of their ancestral home ; but that
was long ago, and they have been innkeepers now for
more than a century. Their visitor's book is quite a
venerable volume, and contains, among the usual
irrelevant rubbish of such collections, the handwriting
of Humboldt, Fuchs, Richthofen, Sir Roderick Mur-
chison, the Elie de Beaumonts, and other European
celebrities. But some nefarious autograph -hunter has
abstracted one of the greatest treasures the book con
tained — the signature of the discoverer of the Georgium
Sidus. Here too, among the latest entries, a certain Dr.
Reinhart of Munich had exercised his Latinity in the
following pithy sentence : —
" Viator ! Cave Tabernum Bernhart in C ampidello ! "
This ominous caution — so much the more impressive
for being so vague — had the effect of deciding us
against putting up for a night, or even a midday rest,
at the albergo in question. How many travellers since
then, I wonder, have like us accepted the good Doctor's
salutary warning ? And what would have happened to
us if we had neglected it ?

s 2

294 UNTRODDEN PEAKS 6- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
The Val Fiemme, or Fleims Thai (about the middle
of which Predazzo is situate), is but one portion of an
immensely long tortuous valley called in part the Val
Fassa, in part the Val Fiemme, in part the Val Cembra,
which begins with the source of the Avisio in that
depression between the Marmolata and the Monte
Padon which is known as the Fedaja pass, and ends
where the torrent debouches into the Eisack at Lavis,
seven miles north of Trient. The collective name for
this chain of valleys is the Val d'Avisio ; and, except
at quite the upper end of the Fassa division, it is
the least picturesque of any that came within the
compass of our journey.
Leaving Predazzo after one day of rest — for, however
attractive to geologists and mineralogists, it has no
excursions to repay the unscientific visitor — we next
pursued our course up the valley purposing to put up
for a couple of nights at Vigo in the Fassa Thai, and
thence to explore the cirque of the Rosengarten, and
ascend the Sasso dei Mugoni.*
It is a dull day when we start, having a somewhat
dull journey before us. Our way lies at first between
a double range of low hills partly clothed with pine-
forest, and partly with scrub. These hills, which are of
the dark igneous rock thrown up from the Predazzo
crater, hide the loftier peaks and are not picturesque at
all. By and by comes a long straight road, terminated
miles away by the village of Moena. Going along this
road, a few unmistakably Dolomitic summits begin to
* There is now daily communication by omnibus between Predazzo and
Vigo by the road from Cavalese to Vigo. (Note to Second Edition.)

THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. 295
peer up here and there above the barren hills to the left;
and straight ahead, far beyond Moena, rises the Monte
Boe, looking like an immense fort on a grand pedestal
of rock, its battlements lost in the clouds. This Monte
Boe, the southernmost bastion of the huge Sella Massif,
is also known as the Monte Pordoi. It has been
ascended by Dr. Grohmann, who calculates its height
at 10,341 feet.
Passing through Moena — a large, straggling, wood
cutting village — and crossing a couple of bridges, we
leave the high road and strike up a steep mule-path
on the opposite bank of the torrent. It is the same
valley, and the same water ; but here above Moena, it
is called the Fassa Thai. Looking back from this
higher ground, we get a fine view over the Monte
Latemar (8,983 feet) and its far-reaching fir-forests ;
while the wild peaks of the Rosengarten and Lang
Kofel came into sight above the lower slopes of Costa-
lunga. And now, in rich contrast to the pallid Dolomites
soaring high in the distance, the famous porphyry of the
Fassa Thai begins to break out in crimson patches
among the lower hills, and to appear in the cliff-walls
that border the Avisio far below. Yonder, where the
stream takes a sudden bend, two isolated porphyry
pillars jut out on either side, forming a natural portal
through which the narrowed waters rush impetuously.
A little farther still, and a whole mountain side of the
precious marble, quarried terrace above terrace, and
apparently of inexhaustible richness, is laid bare to view.
Now we recross the stream, and pass through the

296 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
village of Soraga. Here, everything except the grass
and the trees, is crimson. The ploughed fields are
crimson ; the mud underfoot is crimson ; the little
torrent hurrying down the ravine by the roadside is
crimson ; the very puddles are crimson also. Even the
roads are mended with porphyry, and great blocks of it
he piled by the wayside, waiting for the hammer of the
stonebreaker. The sky, which has all day been murky, now seems
to be coming down lower and lower, like a heavy grey
curtain. The air grows chill. A cold leaden tint
spreads over the landscape ; and the long dull road
seems to grow longer and duller the farther we follow
it. At length we come in sight of Vigo, a village
clustered high upon a hill-side to the left, backed by
lofty slopes of fir-forest, down which the gathering
mists are creeping fast. A steep path leads up to the
village, whence, looking over to the north-east where
the horizon is still clear, we catch a momentary end
wise glimpse of the Marmolata.
And now we are overtaken by a smiling lad with a
bunch of wild strawberries in his hat, who turns out to
be young Rizzi, son of old Rizzi who keeps the albergo
up here at Vigo — a large, dark, dreary house, the
entrance to which lies through a filthy cart-shed and up
a staircase that looks as if it had not been scrubbed for
the last half century. Here we are received by the land
lord's daughter, a fat, bouncing, rosy-cheeked damsel of
inexhaustible activity and good humour, who does her
best to make us welcome. The inn, however, proves
to be quite full, with the exception of one big, treble-

THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. 297
bedded room with windows looking to east and north,
and a ceiling about seven feet from the floor. And we
are fortunate to secure even this ; for before we have
been half an hour in possession of it, there arrives a
party of Germans — hungry, noisy mountaineers, regu
larly got up for work, with ropes, ice-hatchets, and hob
nailed boots — for whom beds have to be made on the
landing. A chill, drizzly evening, a supper irregularly served,
and boisterous neighbours in the adjoining rooms,
caused us, perhaps unjustly, to take a dislike to Vigo.
The house, too, was full of foul smells ; and a manure-
heap in the cow-yard under one of our windows did not
help to improve the atmosphere. So when morning
came, bringing a sea of white mist that extinguished all
the mountain-tops, we decided to start for home as
quickly as possible. In vain the fat maiden represented
that to-day it would surely rain, and that if we only de
layed till to-morrow we should be certain of magnificent
views and splendid weather. In vain she exhausted
her eloquence to prove the absurdity of our attacking
the Fedaja pass in mist and rain. We did not believe
that it was going to be wet ; we knew we could take
the Fedaja again from Caprile any day we chose ; and
we were determined to go home.
So by half-past six a.m., behold us on the road again,
delighted to get away from Vigo, and hoping for a
tolerable day.
It is a sweet, fresh morning. The vapours are
rolling and rising, the clouds parting, and stray
gleams of sunshine gliding now and then across the

298 UNTRODDEN PEAKS & UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
hill-sides. But the mountain-tops continue to be
veiled in masses of soft, white haze, and only thrust a
tusk out here and there. Confident, however, of fine
weather, we laugh the fat maiden to scorn, and ride on
our way exulting.
The valley now grows in beauty at every turn. At
Mazin, we come upon a picturesque hamlet with a back
ground of ravine and waterfall, and approaching Cam-
pidello, we look out anxiously for the strarfge Dolomite
peaks that overhang the village. The mist is thick ;
but there they are, gleaming grey and ghostlike. Here,
too, is the little albergo against which we have been
warned by Dr. Reinhart of Munich. It looks rather
pretty ; but the sight of two extremely dirty and ill-
favoured dwarfs — a man and a woman — who come out
upon the balcony to stare at the travellers, quite con
firms us in the satisfaction with which we ride past the
house. A little higher up the valley, we reach the villages of
Gries and Canazei ; and, stopping for only a few
minutes at Canazei to feed and water the mules, push
on rapidly for the Fedaja. Still the scenery con
tinues to increase in beauty. On the hillsides are corn-
slopes, woods, and pastures ; in the valley, a rushing
stream babbles among tamarisk trees and pines. Soon,
a fine pyramidal mountain, black and precipitous on
the one side, sheeted with snow on the other, comes
into sight at the head of an opening valley to the right.
We take it at first for the Marmolata ; but it proves
to be the Monte Vernale, a less lofty but far more
difficult mountain, calculated at 9,845 feet in height.

THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. 299

Now the path turns off to the left, threading the two
miserable hamlets of Alba and Penia, and rising rapidly
through a grand rocky gorge which gets finer and more
savage the higher it climbs. Steep precipices shut it
in on the one hand, and barren slopes battlemented
with jagged rocks upon the other. The Avisio, here a
mere thread of torrent, foams from rock to rock in
innumerable tiny cascades. Wide-spreading firs and
larches make a green roof overhead, and the path is
carpeted with fragrant spines upon which the mules
tread noiselessly. Presently we come in sight of a fine
waterfall which issues from a fissure in the face of the
great cliff to the right, descends in two bold leaps, and
vanishes amid the depths of the fir forest below.
The gorge now closes in nearer and steeper, our
upward path being indicated by the giddy windings of
a little hand-rail which scales the face of a huge rock
straight ahead. It is here too steep and slippery for
riding, so we dismount and walk.
Alas ! the fat maiden was right, after all. The mist
which has been lightly drifting in our faces for the last
half hour, now sets in with a will, and becomes a steady
pour. Drenched and silent, we toil up the stony path
and wish ourselves back at Vigo. An hour hence, says
Clementi, we shall come to some chalets and cattle-
sheds ; but there is no Hospice to look forward to here,
as on most other passes. By and by, however, where
the climb attains its worst pitch of steepness and
slipperiness, we pass a succession of little carved and
coloured " Stazione " nailed at short intervals against
the rock, for the benefit of such pious souls as may care

300 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
to say a few Aves by the way ; and these lead to a tiny
chapel not much bigger than a sentry-box, into which
we are thankful to creep for temporary shelter. A
wretched crucifixion by some village artist, a few faded
wild flowers in a broken mug, and a multitude of votive
hearts, arms, legs, eyes and so forth, in tinsel and
coloured wax, decorate the little altar ; while securely
embedded in a niche in the wall, chained, padlocked,
and iron-bound, there stands a small coffer with a slit
in the lid, for the reception of stray soldi.
Here, glad of even a few minutes' respite from the
pitiless deluge without, we wring the rain from our
dripping garments, and divide with the men what we
have left of bread and wine ; not forgetting the wet and
melancholy mules, who receive a lump of bread apiece,
and are comforted by L. with bits of sugar.
It is still pouring when we go on again, and it con
tinues to pour steadily. For full another hour we keep
on under these pleasant circumstances, always on foot ;
and then, quite suddenly, we find ourselves close under
the western end of the Marmolata. Invisible till this
moment, it now looms out all at once in startling prox
imity. A great blue wrinkled glacier, reaching down
out of the mist like a terrible Hand, grasps the grey
rock overhead ; while beyond and above it, a vast field
of stainless snow slopes up into the clouds, without sign
of end or limit.
Turning from this grand spectacle to the rocky shelf
we have just reached, we find ourselves in a garden of
wild flowers. There were none in the gorge below ;
none by the path-side coming up ; but here they are

THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. 301

beautiful and abundant, as if fair Earine had lately
passed this way, the flowers following in her track : —
" As she had sow'd them with her odorous foot ! "
Wetter than wet through one can hardly be ; so we
despatch Clementi up the rock to fetch some bunches
of the rare, white, velvety Edelweiss, while we quickly
gather such lower plants as grow within easy reach.
Thus in the pelting rain we secure some specimens of
the Orobus luteus, Dryas octopetala, Primula farinosa,
Pinguicula grandiflora, Cynanchum Vincetoxicum, Orchis
nigra, &c, &c. ; besides several varieties of cyclamen,
gentians, and ferns.
Again a little higher, and we reach the summit of the
pass — a lonely upper world of rich sward, bounded on
the left by the splintered peaks of Monte Padon, and on
the right by the lower slopes of the Marmolata, which
rises direct from the grassy level on which we stand.
This is the Piana Fedaja, or Fedaja Alp. A dozen or
so of rough wooden chalets are here clustered together ;
mere cattle-refuges and hay-sheds, one of which, being
a trifle more air-tight than the rest, is decorated with a
coloured Christus over the doorway, and serves as a
sleeping place for travellers who are about to make the
ascent of the mountain.
The rain now abates somewhat of its violence, and,
the way being once more level, riding again becomes
practicable. Thus we go on ; a second and a third
great glacier creeping into sight as the first is left
behind. These each show a brown margin of moraine ;
the last glacier being of immense extent, as large appa-

302 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
rently as the lower glacier of Grindelwald. While we
are yet looking at them, however, a tall, strange, ghost
like mist stalks swiftly across the snow, and veils all
but the brown rocks abutting on the pass. In a
moment the great mountain has melted away, and we
see it no more.""
The Fedaja Alp is just the width of the Marmolata,
and no more. It begins with the Western, and ends
with the Eastern extremity of the mountain. Here, at
the foot of the huge dark rock known as the Piz
Seranta, lies an exquisite little dark green tarn sur
rounded by slopes of crimson Alp-roses. The rain
having now ceased for a moment, its waters, ruffled
only by the flight of a small brown moor-hen, are as
placid as a sheet of green glass.
Another yard or two of rocky path, and we come to
an upright, mossy stone bearing an illegible inscription.
This is the ancient boundary-stone between Italy and
Austria — one of the few divisions left unchanged at the
last readjustment of the frontier-line. Half of the
Marmolata belongs to the House of Hapsburg, and
half to the kingdom of Italy. The line of demarcation

* The height of the Marmolata, though proved to exceed that of thi Cimon
della Pala, is not yet thought to be satisfactorily ascertained. The Austrian
"Kataster" measurement gives 11,466 feet; while Dr. Grohmann gives a
barometrical elevation of only 11,045 feet. Mr. Ball arrived within a few
feet of the summit of the second peak of the Marmolata in i860 ; Dr. Groh
mann ascended it unsuccessfully in 1862, and made the first ascent of the
highest summit in 1864. Mr. Tuckett made the second ascent in 1865, by a
new and more direct course, and repeated the achievement in 1869.
Note to Second Edition. — The height of the Marmolata, as given by
the latest Austrian survey, is now fixed at 3,359 metres, or 11,020 English
feet.

THE FASSA THAL AND THE FEDAJA PASS. 303

is ingeniously carried along the topmost ridge of ice
and glacier, so that, unless by members of the different
European Alpine clubs, it is not very likely to become a
disputed territory.
From this point, all is descent. Our way lies along
a vast green slope, following the course of the Candiarei
torrent, but running for a long distance upon the brink
of a ruinous gully partly choked with yet unmelted snow.
For the path on the Candiarei side has been lately
swept away by a torrent of snow and water from the
Marmolata, and the whole mountain slope is here one
mass of soft red mud, more slippery than ice, full of
pits and fissures, and very difficult. Lower down still,
the track lies through rich park-like pastures deep in
wild-flowers, so bringing us at last to the upper end of
the Sottoguda gorge.
No sooner have we entered the defile than the clouds
clear off as if by magic. The sun then bursts out in
splendour, lighting up the rocks first on one side and
then on the other, according as the ravine winds its
narrow way. Our wet garments steam as if hung
before a blazing fire. The men take off their coats,
and carry them on their alpenstocks to dry. The mules
prick up their ears and rub their noses together, as if
whispering to each other that there is a scent of home
upon the air, and that the old familiar stable cannot
surely be far distant.
Nor is it ; for already we have emerged into the Val
Pettorina. Those green slopes to the left are the
slopes of Monte Migion ; these fir-woods to the right
are the woods of Monte Pezza. Presently come the

304 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
dilapidated hamlets of Sottoguda and Sorara ; then
Rocca on its hillside ; then the familiar path down by
the torrent-side and across the wooden bridge ; then at
last Caprile, where a warm welcome awaits us, a heap
of English letters, and rest.

THE SASSO BIANCO.

OROGRAPHY OF THE SASSO BIANCO — ITS PANORAMIC POSITION — ITS
SUPERFICIAL EXTENT — ITS GEOLOGY — ASCENT OF THE MOUNTAIN— AN
EXQUISITE MORNING — ANOTHER SAGRO — THE CORN - ZONE — THE
PEZZE PROPERTY — THE WILD-FLOWER ZONE — THE UPPER PASTUR
AGES — WAITING FOR THE MISTS — THE LAST SLOPE — THE SUMMIT —
THE VIEW TO THE NORTH — THE ZILLERTHAL AND ANTHOLZER ALPS —
THE GROSS VENEDIGER — GLIMPSES ON THE SOUTH SIDE — ESTIMATED
HEIGHT OF THE SASSO BIANCO — THE DESCENT— GRATIFICATION OF
THE NATIVES.

CHAPTER XII.
THE SASSO BIANCO.
" An ill-favoured thing, sir," says Touchstone ; " but
mine own."
Now I will not say that the Sasso Bianco is an ill-
favoured mountain — Heaven forbid ! Nor that it is an
unimportant mountain ; nor even that it is a small
mountain. I will not depreciate it at the beginning, in
order to rehabilitate it by a coup de theatre in the end.
Neither will I affect to undervalue it for the sake of
establishing an ingenious parallel between myself and
the Fool.
At the same time, I am anxious not to exaggerate its
peculiar qualifications and virtues. For it is with
mountain-tops as with other playthings : — having sought
to achieve them in the first instance because we value
them, we go on valuing them because we have achieved
them. We may even admit their' ill-favouredness, as
Touchstone admits the ill-favouredness of Audrey ; but
we are apt all the time to over-estimate them in secret
— simply because they are our own. I premise there
fore that I am not blindly in love with the Sasso
Bianco,* and that the following portrait is not flattered.
* Strictly speaking, as I have said elsewhere, the name of Sasso Bianco
applies only to the rocky summit of the Monte Pezza. T

308 UNTRODDEN PEAKS & UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
I cannot better describe the Sasso Bianco than by
adopting the words of Clementi. It is not a mountain
of the first class ; but it is high for a mountain of the
second class. It is, for instance, 2000 feet, if not 2200
feet, higher than the Rigi, and about 240 feet higher
than the Niesen. Its summit stands about 200 feet
higher above the lake of Alleghe than the summit of
Monte Generoso above the lake of Lugano. It rises
considerably above the tree- line, and just falls short of
the snow-level. That is to say, we found one unmelted
snow-drift about 100 feet below the summit, and there
may have been others which we did not see, lurking in
inaccessible fissures and crevices. The snow was firm
and pure, but the quantity insignificant.
As regards position, I know of no minor Swiss
mountain to which I can accurately compare the Sasso
Bianco. The Rigi is a mere outlying sentinel, and the
view it commands is too distant to be very striking.
The same may be said of Monte Generoso, despite its
unparalleled panoramic range. The y£gischhorn view
is all on one side. The Gorner Grat, unrivalled as a
near view over snow and ice, is too circumscribed. But
the Sasso Bianco stands in the very centre of the
Dolomites, like the middle ball upon a Solitaire board,
surrounded on all sides by the giants of the district. If
one could imagine a fine, detached mountain, clear on
all sides, occupying, say, the position of the village of
Leuk in the valley of the Rhone, and high enough
to command the whole circuit of the Oberland,
Monte Rosa, and Mont Blanc ranges, that moun
tain would fairly represent the kind of position

THE SASSO BIANCO. 309
which the Sasso Bianco holds in reference to the
scenery by which it is encompassed. I am not
acquainted with the view from the Bella Tola in the
Valley of the Rhone ; but, judging from its situation
on the map, it seems just possible that it may supply
exactly the parallel of which I am in search.
The mass of Monte Pezza is of considerable extent.
Counting from the points locally known as Monte Alto
on the West, and Monte Forca on the East, and from
the Val Pettorina on the North to the valley of the
Biois on the South, it must cover a space of nearly three
and a half miles in length by two and a half in breadth.
These, of course, are only rough measurements derived
partly from personal observation, and partly based upon
the Austrian Ordnance Map. In superficial extent as
well as in height, the Sasso Bianco (or, more properly,
the Monte Pezza) much exceeds the Monte Migion, the
Monte Frisolet, and the Monte Fernazza.*
Of the geology of the mountain I am not competent
to form an opinion ; but according to Ball's geological
map, it is composed in part of Porphyry, and in part of
Triassic. The light-coloured cliffs of the summit,
facing North, (being the part especially designated as
the Sasso Bianco) are probably Dolomite. Both in
colour and texture the rock appears, at all events, to be
of one piece with that of which the great Primiero and
Ampezzo peaks are composed.
* It is curious that the Monte Fernazza (also known as the Monte Tos)
should have been ascended the previous summer by both Mr. F. F. Tuckett
and Mr. Gilbert ; and that the Sasso Bianco, notwithstanding the much finer
view it necessarily commands, should still have escaped. T 2

310 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Of course we decided upon making the ascent almost
as soon as we found ourselves back at Caprile. The
way up, though long, seemed to be sufficiently easy.
There were many paths and char tracks leading from
the valley of Alleghe to the farmlands and hamlets
scattered along the eastern side of the mountain ; but
Clementi recommended a path starting from the Val
Pettorina, along which we might ride, he said, as far as
the highest pastures, and to within about an hour of the
summit. As regarded time, he calculated that from
four to five hours, including the last hour on foot, would
take us from Caprile to the summit.
All this sounded pleasant enough ; so it was arranged
that Giuseppe should watch the weather, and rouse the
household at 3 a.m. whenever a favourable morning
should offer. At length, on the morning of the fourth
day after our return, the weather being apparently
favourable, Giuseppe gave the signal a little before
dawn, and by 5 a.m. we were upon our way.
A more lovely morning we have never yet had. The
grass, the wild-flowers, the trees, are all drenched with
dew and sparkling in the sun. The birds seem wild
with delight, and are singing rapturously among the wet
green leaves. Crossing the wooden bridge and taking
the familiar road up the little Val Pettorina, as if
going to Sottoguda, we hear the bells of Rocca ring
ing high up in the still air, and pass group after
group of peasants in their holiday clothes, making for
the hill. For it is a festa this bright morning, and
the annual Sagro is held at Rocca to-day. Men and
women alike pull off their hats as we ride by. All

THE SASSO BIANCO. 311

wish us good morning, and none fail to ask where we
are going.
Turning away presently from the beaten path, we
then strike down to the water's edge, the mules picking
their way along the loose stones bordering the bed of
the Pettorina torrent. Skirting thus the base of the
hill on which Rocca is built, we cross a higher bridge
and plunge at once into the shade of the firwoods at the
northward base of Monte Pezza. The path, which is
steep and stony, then winds round to the east, and
brings us out upon a space of cultivated farm-lands just
overhanging the Cordevole.
Here dark firwoods slope in shade down to the valley
below, and higher firwoods climb the mountain-side
above ; while, between both, a belt of green corn-fields,
lighted here and there by fiery sparks of scarlet poppies,
ripples in the breeze and the sunshine. Peeping up
yonder, just beyond the brink of the woods, rises the
spire of Caprile, while, farther still, a faint ghost of
white vapour soars lazily up from the direction of
Alleghe. Presently a lark springs out, full-voiced, from
his nest in the barley ; and a troop of children, their
little brown hands full of poppies and corn-flowers,
come chasing each other down the mountain-side.
Such indeed is the idyllic beauty of the whole scene
that even L. (who, with a culpable indifference to glory
which it grieves me to record, was more than half
inclined to stay at home) is moved to admiration, and
admits that, were it to see no more than this, she is
glad to have come.
Meanwhile, we follow a series of narrow footways

312 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &> UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
winding among fields of young wheat, barley, flax and
hemp. Dark Nessol — a confirmed kleptomaniac —
grabs huge mouthfuls to right and left, and leaves a trail
of devastation behind him. Fair Nessol, on the
contrary, looks and longs ; but obeying the light hand
on his bridle, abstains regretfully.
Presently we leave the fields behind, and mount
again into the shade of the forest. Here and there,
where the path is very steep, we dismount and walk.
Still higher, we emerge upon a zone of rich grass-land
full of busy haymakers, and learn that all this part
belongs to Signora Pezze. Twenty-four such pas
turages are yet hers ; but half the mountain-side be
longed to the family in the old times past away.
From this point, and for a long way up, the pasture-
land is like a lovely park, rich in grass and interspersed
with clumps of firs and larches. As the path rises,
however, the trees diminish and the wild-flowers be
come more abundant. Soon we are in the midst of a
terraced garden thick with white and yellow violets,
forget-me-nots, great orange and Turkscap lilies, wild
sweet-peas, wild sweet- William, and purple Canterbury
bells. Here, too, we make acquaintance for the first
time with a grotesque, ugly flower bearing a kind of
fibrous crest, like a top-knot of spiders' legs. They
call it " Capelli di Dio," or God's-Hair. The forget-
me-not is here called Fior di Santa Lucia, or Saint
Lucy's flower ; and the white clover, known only as a
wild-flower in South Tyrol, is the Fior di San Giovanni,
or Flower of Saint John.
Looking back now towards Monte Migion, I see that

THE SASSO BIANCO. 313
we have long ago overtopped the Sasso di Ronch,
which from here looks no bigger than a milestone ; and
that we are already higher than the highest ridge of
Monte Frisolet. Meanwhile, however, the morning
dews keep rising in white vaporous masses from the
depths of the valley below, threatening before long to
intercept the view. If they should rise to our own level
when once we are on the top, as they seem only too
likely to do, it is plain that our chances of a panoramic.
view are lost beyond redemption.
And now the wild-flower zone is left below, and the
path, which here circles round a vast amphitheatre
in the mountain-side, gets very steep, and strikes up
towards the last pasturages. Steep as it is, however,
and hewn in places out of the slippery rock, the farmers
have for centuries contrived to drag their rough
carettini up and down, when the highest hay is
gathered. The rock is even worn into deep ruts, just
as the pavement of the Via Triumphalis is channelled
by Roman chariot-wheels, where it climbs the steep
verge of Monte Cavo.
Here the mules scramble on first, and, reaching the
green level above, set off on their own account. In
vain Clementi runs and shouts after them. They
trot resolutely on, till, reaching a little hollow among
bushes and deep grass, they bury their noses in a cool
rill which they had scented from afar off.
Clementi, coming up red and breathless, wrenches
their heads out of the water, and overwhelms them
with reproaches. " Holy Mother! what do they mean
by not minding when they are spoken to ? Holy

3i4 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Mother ! what do they mean by drinking cold water
when they are as hot as two hot cakes in an oven ?
Sacramento ! Do they want to fall ill and die, out of
mere spite towards a master who loves them ? Eh,
Long-ears! are they deaf? Eh, monsters of mules !
do they not understand Italian ? "
It is a long, grassy, trough-shaped plateau, with a
few gnarled, bloodless old pines scattered about, and
two or three tumble-down chalets. Here the char
track ends ; but we take the mules on a good way
farther still, up a steep pitch at the far end of the
pasture Alp, and out at last upon a broad ridge ter
minated towards the North-East by a long slope and
an upright wall of rock, like a line of fortification. To
right and left, this ridge dips away into unfathomable
chasms of misty valley ; to the South-West, it runs
down to join the great woods which clothe all the
Western mass of Monte Pezza. There is nothing, in
short, above the point we have now reached, save the
slope leading to the summit.
But where is the summit ? Seeing us look eagerly
towards the rock wall up above, Clementi laughs and
shakes his head.
"Ah, no, Signoras," he says. " Non ancora. We
must leave the mules here ; but from this point we have
an hour's walking before us. The Cima is yonder —
yonder ; seven or eight hundred feet higher ! "
It proves, however, to be over a thousand.
The mists, alas ! are now swirling up on this side
with frightful rapidity. The Val Pettorina and all the
Sottoguda side are hidden by the slope above ; but the

THE SASSO BIANCO. 315

Val d'Alleghe, the Civetta, and all the peaks lying to
the South-West of our position are now visible only
in snatches, as the vapours drift and part. The Val
Biois, looking over towards Cencenighe and the Cima
di Pape, is like a huge caldron sending up volumes of
swift steam.
To go on at present is obviously useless; so we
make arm-chairs of the saddles and rest awhile upon
the grass, while the mules graze, and the men, who
have had more than four hours' climbing, light their
cigars and lie down in the shade of a big boulder.
Up here, we are already above the tree-level. Glow
ing Alp-roses and dark blue gentians abound ; but the
grass all about grows thin and hungerly. According
to the aneroid, and without allowing anything for
corrections, we have already left Caprile more than
3,500 feet below. That is to say, we have attained an
elevation 200 feet higher than the Fedaja pass,
and between 20 and 30 feet higher than the Tre Sassi
pass, where it will be remembered we reached the
snow-level. Half an hour is consumed thus, in calculating
heights, examining maps, and watching the progress
of the mists. Sometimes the sun breaks through, and
then they part for a moment and drive off in rolling
masses. Sometimes they rush up, as if chased before
the wind, sweeping all across the ridge, blinding us in
white fog, and leaving a clinging damp behind them.
At length we decide to push on for the summit. Cle
menti, who knows the climate, thinks it may clear off
at midday, and that we may as well be upon the spot

316 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
to take advantage of any sudden change for the better.
It is now 10. 20 a.m., and we have an hour's climbing
before us.
Meanwhile, a little lad who has been picked up on
the way is left in charge of the mules, with strict in
junctions not to let them stray near the edge of the
precipice on either side ; — a duty which he fulfils by
immediately lying down upon his face in the damp
grass, and falling sound asleep.
So we go on again, slowly but steadily, up the long
slope and on to the foot of the rock-wall aforesaid.
Here are no steps ready hewn. We have to get up as
best we can, and the getting up is not easy. The
little crevices and inequalities which serve as foot-holes
are in places so far apart that it is like going up the
steps of the Great Pyramid ; and but for Giuseppe,
who goes first in order to do duty as a kind of windlass,
the writer, for one, would certainly never have sur
mounted the barrier.
This stiff little bit over, we expect to see some sign
of the summit ; but on the contrary find ourselves,
apparently, as far from it as ever. A second and a
third slope still rise up ahead, as barren and unpro
mising as the last.
And now even the Alp-rose has disappeared, and not
a bush of any kind breaks the monotony of the surface.
But the gentians make a blue carpet underfoot ; and
the Edelweiss, so rare elsewhere, so highly prized,
flourishes in lavish luxuriance, like a mere weed.
Presently we pass an unmelted snowdrift in a hollow
some little way below the summit. Then, quite sud-

THE SASSO BIANCO. 317
denly, a whole army of distant peaks begins to start into
sight ; and so, after six hours, we all at once find our
selves upon the top !
We might, of course, have had a better day ; but it is
some reward after long toil to find the view to North
and West quite free from mist. The vapours are still
boiling up in the South and South-East, but not
perhaps quite so persistently as an hour ago. At all
events they part from time to time, so that in the end,
by dint of patient watching, we see all the near peaks
in those quarters. •
It is now nearly half-past eleven o'clock, and, having
eaten nothing since five, we are all as hungry as
people have a right to be at an altitude of between four
and five thousand feet above the breakfast table. So
before attempting to verify peaks, or heights, or relative
distances of any kind, we call for the luncheon-basket
and turn with undiminished gusto to the familiar meal
of hard-boiled eggs and bread. The water in the
flask being flat, Clementi fetches up a great lump of
snow, and this, melted in the sun and mixed with
a little brandy, makes a delicious draught as cold as
ice itself.
In the midst of this frugal festivity, Giuseppe, with
the keen eye of a chamois-hunter, recognises L.'s maid
(whom he calls the " Signora Cameriera ") on the
Cordevole bridge just outside the village. We see only
a tiny black speck, no bigger than a pin's head ; but
Clementi goes so far as to depose to her parasol. In a
moment both the men are up, tying a pocket-handkerchief
to a white umbrella, and lashing the umbrella upon an

318 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

Alpenstock, which they erect for a signal ; and the
excitement caused by this incident does not subside till
the black speck, after remaining stationary upon the
bridge for about a quarter of an hour, creeps slowly
away and is lost to sight in the direction of Caprile.
Luncheon over, we set to work with maps and field-
glasses, to identify all that is visible of the panorama.
We are sitting now on the brink of the great
yellowish cliffs which the writer sketched a little while
ago from below the Sasso di Ronch.* All the heights
and valleys on this side lie spread out before us, like the
surface of a relief-map. We look down upon Monte
Migion and Monte Frisolet — both green to the top, and
scattered over with hamlets, farms, cultivated fields, and
fir-forests. Monte Migion, estimated by Trinker at
7,838 feet, lies full 400 feet below ; and Monte Frisolet
considerably lower still. The Val Pettorina opens just
under our feet, and one could almost drop a stone down
into the little piazza of Rocca, where the Sagro is
going on merrily. We can see the peasants moving to
and fro between the church and a great white booth on
the top of which a red flag is flying. Now and then,
when the wind comes up this way, it brings faint echoes
of the bells, and of the braying of a brass band. As for
the holiday-folk, they look exactly like a swarm of very
small black insects, all in motion. Monte Fernazza,
farther to the right, appears to be considerably lower
than Monte Migion, but not so low as Monte Frisolet.
Except for a blackish ridge of igneous rock cropping
out on the side of the pass of Alleghe, this mountain is
* See woodcut, p. 223 — "The Sasso Bianco."

THE SASSO BIANCO. 319

green and cultivated like the others, and is apparently
about 6,500 feet in height. So much for the minor
mountains in our immediate neighbourhood.
Of the larger, the two nearest (each being distant
about two miles in a direct line) are the Marmolata and
the Civetta. The last fills all the South-Eastern
division of the horizon. Large masses of vapour flit
from time to time across the face of that vast, fretted
screen ; but they flit, and pass away, and it lifts its
noble head continually into the clear blue depths of the
upper sky. The Marmolata stands up in bold profile,
undimmed by even a thread of vapour. Mr. Gilbert,
seeing this mountain from the Sasso di Dam and
getting it also in profile, though from the Western end,
compared it to a. huge stationery case, its vertical side
to the South, and its long snow-slope to the North.
But taken here from the East end,* whence one more
clearly sees the sharp depression, or couloir, that divides
the peaks, it absurdly resembles the familiar cocked hat
worn by the first Napoleon, the precipitous side being
of course the front of the hat, and the snow-slope
corresponding to the back. A great stream of snow
lies in the cleft of the couloir, and all the northward
slope is outlined, as it seems, in frosted silver ; but the
great glaciers and snow-fields that lie towards the
Fedaja are from here invisible.
The green threshold of the Fedaja pass, and the low
* The author's sketch of the Marmolata from the Pass of Alleghe (p. 333),
though taken from a point about two miles to the S.E. of the Sasso Bianco,
shows something of this form, although the mountain from that point was
much less foreshortened, which diminished the resemblance.

320 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
jagged ridge of Monte Padon, rise just North of the
extreme Eastern end of the Marmolata, which is
buttressed on this side by the black precipices of
Seranta. Monte Vernale, repeating from here as from
Canazei its curious resemblance to the Marmolata, lurks
close under the Southward wall of its huge neighbour,
being divided from it by only a little green slope
considerably higher than the Fedaja pass, which
Clementi points out as the Forcella di Contrin (9,052
feet) , and which is also known as the Forcella di Val
Ombretta, and as the Passo di Val Fredda. Still lower
down towards the South-West lies the Sasso di Val
Fredda, still unascended ; a little beyond it comes the
Monte Ricobetta, locally known as the Monzon, 8,634
feet in height ; and on the same parallel, but still
farther West, Monte Latemar, on whose summit the
vapours rest all day.
North-West of the Marmolata, about nine miles
distant as the crow flies, rise the snow-streaked bastions
of the Sella Massif, of which, however, only two great
towers — the Boe and the Campolungo Spitz — are seen
from this side ; while in an opening between the Boe
and the Marmolata rises a noble, solitary rock which
proves to be the Lang Kofel, 10,392 feet in height, and
distant about thirteen English miles. A tiny glimpse
of the Rosengarten is also seen in the gap above the
Forcella di Contrin.
Returning now to the point from which we started,
and looking due North straight over the top of Monte
Migion, the pinky snow-streaked line of the Sett Sass,
divided from Monte Lagazuoi by the Valparola pass,

THE SASSO BIANCO. 321
comes into view. The Sasso d'Istria, which looked so
imposing from near by, here shows as a small pyramidal
rock of no importance ; the castellated crest of Monte
Nuvolau dwindles to a tiny ridge on a long green
slope ; the caretta track of the Tre Sassi pass winds
between both like a white thread ; and Monte Tofana,
sulky and cloud-capped, as usual, shows its pyramidal
front only once, when the mists roll apart for a few
moments. Following the parallel of the Tofana, we get misty
glimpses of the Cristallino peaks, of the Cristallo, of the
Drei Zinnen, the Sorapis, and the Croda Malcora. The
Rochetta, and the fantastic ridge of the Bee di Mezzodi
divide them off like a fence ; while straight away to the
East, the Pelmo shows every now and then, quite clear
from base to summit. Between the Pelmo and the
Croda Malcora, part of the range of the Marmarole, and
the curved prow of the Antelao, peep out through
window-like openings in the clouds.
Finally, above and beyond all these, ranging from
North-West to North-East, in the only direction where
the horizon is permanently clear, we look over towards
a sea of very distant peaks reaching far away into the
heart of Northern Tyrol. To the N.N.W., a little
above and to the left of the Sett Sass ridge, we
recognise by help of the map the highest summits of the
Zillerthal Alps:— the Fuss Stein near the Brenner pass,
11,451 feet in height; the five peaks of the Hornspitzen,
ranging from 10,333 feet to 10,842 feet ; and the
Hochfeiler, 11,535 feet- A little East of North, exactly
above the Sett Sass, a long snow range glowing in the

322 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
mid-day sun identifies itself with the Antholzer Alps
beyond Bruneck, the highest points of which are the
Wildgall (10,785 feet), the Schneebige Nock (11,068
feet) and the Hochgall, still, I believe, unascended, and
rising to 11,284 feet. Beyond these again, to the
N.N.W., Clementi believes that he recognises the
Drei Herrn Spitze (11,492 feet) and the Gross Venediger
(12,053 feet) ; these last being full forty-five miles
distant as the crow flies.
Turning now from the Northern half of the horizon
where all is so clear, it is doubly disappointing to face
the mists which still keep pouring up from the South.
Parting here and there at times, as if rent suddenly by
gusts of wind from the South-West, they show now the
tremendous wall of the Cimon della Pala ; now the
Castelazzo over against the Costonzella pass, and
behind the Castelazzo, the Cima d'Asti ; and now all
the great Primiero peaks in detached glimpses, from
the Pala di San Martino to the Sasso di Campo. The
Pala di San Lucano, which rises due South of our
position, also gleams out now and then, as also does
the volcanic cone of Cima di Pape. What might be
visible on this side under more favourable circum
stances, it is, of course, impossible to say; but I am in
clined to think the Southward view, including as it does
the Primiero group, would be finer than that from
Monte Pavione, which is some 200 feet lower than the
Sasso Bianco. As it is, even with one half of the
horizon continually obscured, we succeed in identifying
over fifty great summits, including all the Dolomite
giants. I should be afraid to conjecture how many

THE SASSO BIANCO. 323
peaks which could not be verified with certainty must
have been in sight.
It was at the time, and is still, a matter of regret to
the writer not to have been able to make some kind of
panoramic outline, however rough, of the view from the
summit. But it would have been useless to make the
attempt under such heavy disadvantages, not more than
forty-five degrees of horizon being absolutely clear at
any time.
As regards the height of the Sasso Bianco, there can,
I think, be no doubt that it rather exceeds than falls
below 8,000 feet. A traveller more experienced in the
use of the aneroid would doubtless be able to determine
the matter to within a few feet ; but I should, myself,
be very diffident of giving a decided measurement. We
observed the aneroid closely all the way from Caprile to
the summit, and found that it showed a fall equivalent
to a rise in elevation of 4,500 English feet. This
(without any correction for the mean temperature of the
column of air between the upper and lower stations) if
added to the height at which Caprile stands above the
sea-level, —namely, 3,376 feet — would give an eleva
tion of 8^776 feet. The temperature, however, varied
greatly, the heat being intense as we wound round the
mountain from East to South, and the change to cold
and damp being very sudden when we came into the
mists a thousand feet below the summit. These
mists never rose to the height of the actual summit
during the whole two hours that we remained upon the
top. On the contrary, the sun shone uninterruptedly,
and the temperature must have stood at from 70° to 75°.

324 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

Not venturing to deduce results from these imper
fect observations, I have submitted my notes to an
eminent mountaineer, whose opinion I prefer to give in
his own words : — " Assuming the temperature to be
respectively 500 and 70°, we should have a correction of
280 feet,* which must be added to your 4,500. The
height would then come out 3,376 + 4,500 + 280 = 8,156
feet ; so that I think you may safely put it at over
8,000 feet. In your letter, you spoke of your peak being
400 to 600 feet higher than Monte Migion. Now
Trinker gives the latter as 7,838 feet, which would
bring the Sasso Bianco up to 8,238 or 8,438 feet ; so
that in this way too you get the estimate of over 8,000
feet confirmed." F.F.T.
For the present, then, and until some more com
petent traveller shall determine this point with accuracy,
the height of the Sasso Bianco may be allowed to stand
at something over 8,000 feet.
Having spent two hours on the top, and seeing no
hope of any change for the better on the Southern side,
we reluctantly packed up and came down. By the time
we reached Signora Pezze's pasturages, the Sagro was
breaking up in Rocca, and the contadini who lived in
the scattered farms and cottages of Monte Pezza were
coming up homewards. All asked if we had had a good
view ; if we were very tired ; if we had found it difficult ;
and how long it had taken us to get to the top.
" Brava ! brava ! " said one old man. " So, Signoras,
* The temperature was certainly higher than this at times by five, if
not ten degrees, which would bring the number of feet up to 50 or 100
more.

THE SASSO BIANCO. 325

you have been up our mountain ? Ebbene ! E una
bella montagna ! . . . but you are the first forestieri who
have cared to find it out."
It was amusing to see how pleased, and even flattered,
they all seemed ; as if, being born and bred upon the
mountain, they took the expedition as an indirect com
pliment paid to themselves.
When at length we reached Caprile, it was just half-
past five o'clock. We had been gone precisely twelve
hours and a half : — that is to say, we had been six hours
getting to the top, including stoppages ; two hours on
the top ; and four hours and a half, including another
stoppage, coming down.
We might, as I have already said, have had a
better day. We might, as I fully believe (there
being an almost continuous line of valleys, and no
mountain range of any importance between), have seen
straight down to Venice and the Adriatic on the South ;
to the lake of Garda on the South-West ; and perhaps,
if the Marmolata is not in the way, to the Ortler Spitze
on the West. In any case, the view to the North and
North-West was extremely fine ; and the near view over
the whole surrounding group of Dolomites (which is of
more importance than any distant view of peaks which
are continually seen from other heights) is of the
greatest interest. I doubt, indeed, if there be any other
point from which all the giants of the district can be
seen at once, and to so much advantage.

u 2

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN— NEAR VIEW OF THE CIVETTA — ADVENTURE
WITH A SNAKE— MONTE FERNAZZA — MONTE COLDAI — THE MARMO
LATA FROM THE PASS OF ALLEGHE — UNEXPECTED VIEW OF THE
PELMO — THE MOUNTAINS OF VAL DI ZOLDO — THE BACK OF THE
CIVETTA — THE VALLEY OF ZOLDO — THE HORRORS OF CERCENA'S INN
— THE SCULPTOR OF BRAGAREZZA — ZOPPE ; ITS PAROCO, AND ITS
TITIAN— LUNCHEON IN A TYROLEAN COUNTRY-HOUSE— BRUSETOLON
AND HIS WORKS— SPECIMEN OF A NATIVE — VALLEY AND PASS OF
PALLAFAVERA — IN THE SHADE OF THE PELMO — PESCUL — SELVA AND
THE ABORIGINES — CAPRILE AGAIN.

CHAPTER XIII.
FORNO DI ZOLOO AND ZOPPE.
There remained yet another important excursion to
be taken from Caprile, before we could finally break up
our camp and depart. We must go over the Pass of
Alleghe ; visit the Val di Zoldo ; * make a pilgrimage
to a certain village called Zoppe, where a Titian was to
be seen, and come home by way of the Val Fiorentino.
Now the main attractions of this expedition did not
appear upon the surface. We had been over a good
many passes already, and through a good many valleys,
and had been plentifully pelted with Titians of all
degrees of genuineness ; but what we really wa.ited was
to see the back of the Civetta, and to get a near view of
the Pelmo. As both of these ends would be answered
by following the route thus laid down, and as the ex
pedition was guaranteed not to exceed three days, we
once more packed our black bags, stocked the luncheon-
basket, rose at daybreak one fine morning, and de
parted. This time, young Cesare Pezze, the ex-Gari-
baldian, having a married sister at Pieve di Zoldo
* Travellers starting from Longarone can now visit the Val di Zoldo and
Forno di Zoldo by diligence. (Note to Second Edition.)

33° UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

whom he wished to see, volunteered to walk with us —
a soldierly, upright, picturesque fellow, with his coat
flung loosely across one shoulder, a yellow silk hand
kerchief tied cornerwise round his throat, a bunch of
carnations in his hat, and an alpenstock in his hand.
This time, as last time, our way lies at first beside
the lake ; but strikes away presently behind the village
of Alleghe, and up a delicious little valley thick with
walnuts and limes, and threaded by a bright torrent
that fills many a moss-grown water-trough and turns
many an old brown wheel. The path, rising and wind
ing continually, passes farm-lands and farm-houses ;
barns, orchards, gardens ; green slopes striped with
rows of yellow flax laid down to bleach in the sun ; and
terraces after terraces of wheat, barley, flax, hemp,
potatoes, and glossy-leafed, tassel-blossomed Indian
corn. And as the path rises, so also rises the Civetta, its
lower precipices detaching themselves in grand propor
tions from the main mass, while every riven pinnacle,
spire, obelisk and needle-point, stands out sharply
against the deep blue sky. Thus the mountain grows
in grandeur with every upward foot of the way. White
patches that looked like snow-drifts from the valley,
now show as glaciers coated with snow, through which
the blue ice glitters ; and by-and-by, as we draw still
nearer, another of those strange circular holes, or
" occhi " as they are here called, stares down at us
from near the top of a small peak, like a hole drilled in
a dagger-blade. So, with exquisite glimpses over the
bluish-green lake, we emerge at length from the gorge,

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. 331
and climb a steep, stony lane with never a tree on either
side to screen off the burning sun.
Suddenly a long steel-blue snake specked with white,
darts out from under the very feet of white Nessol !
Clementi utters a wild war-whoop — L. a scream — the
mule a snort of terror ! Giuseppe and young Pezze
leap forward with their sticks, and in a second the poor
reptile (which is as thick as one's wrist and about four
feet in length, but I believe quite harmless) lies dead by
the wayside.
The stony path now leads out upon a wild and deso
late mule-track skirting the grim flanks of Monte
Fernazza — a gruesome mountain whose low black pre
cipices have crashed down before now in many a berg
fall, covering the barren slopes with shattered debris
and huge purply blocks all blistered over with poisonous-
looking lichens. Winding now round the head of the
glen by which we have come up from Alleghe, we
arrive at last upon a grassy plateau at the foot of an
overhanging cliff which, though locally called the Monte
Coldai, is in truth the huge north-eastern shoulder of
the Civetta. Above here, in a hollow among the rocks,
nestles a small tarn called the Lago Coldai, said to
command a fine view, but we had not time to go so
far out of our way.
Beyond Monte Coldai, the way lies up a fine rock-
strewn gorge, just like the gorge of the Avisio where it
leads up to the Fedaja Alp. Gradually we lose sight of
the long, fretted facade of the Civetta, which retires
behind the Coldai rocks, and, looking back, find that
the lake has sunk quite out of sight. The Sasso Bianco,

332 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

which till now had been standing out against the sky,
has all at once dropped below the horizon, and is im
measurably overtopped by the towering altitudes of the
Marmolata. The Boe, the Cima di Pape, the Monte
Vernale, the Sasso di Val Fredda, and many another
now-familiar peak, have also risen into view. But it is
the Marmolata that claims all one's attention, and
seems to fill the scene. Presently, an obstinate cloud
that has been clinging to the highest point of the sum
mit clears off little by little, and leaves the whole noble
mass distinctly relieved against the western sky.
" Guardate ! " says young Pezze, seeing a sketch in
preparation. " La Marmolata has thrown her veil aside
to have her portrait taken."
It is a grand view of the mountain, even though its
snows and glaciers are all out of sight. From here, as
from the Sasso Bianco, one sees its true form and its
actual summit ; while of the one no idea can be formed,
and of the other no vestige is visible, from either the
Tre Sassi or the Fedaja. Clementi can even identify
the tiny top-most patch of snow on which F. F. T.
placed his barometer when he reached the summit.
And now a grassy Col, about a quarter of an hour
ahead, is pointed out as the summit of the pass.
There we shall see the mountains of Val di Zoldo, and
take our midday rest in whatever shady spot we can
find. There too, as young Pezze pleasantly pro
phecies, we shall be within reach of a chalet where milk,
and even cream, may be purchased. So we press on
eagerly, but, stopping suddenly a little below the top,
are amazed to see the Pelmo — snow-ridged, battle-

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE.

333

mented, stupendous — shoot up all at once, as it seems,
from behind the slopes and fir-woods to the left
of the pass, as near us as the Civetta ! Large masses
of vapour are rising and falling round those mighty
towers, never leaving them wholly uncovered for an

THE MARMOLATA FROM THE PASS OF ALLEGHE.
instant ; but they look all the mightier for that touch
of mystery.
And now a few yards higher, and the Marmolata,
the Sasso Bianco, the Boe, and all the rest, disap
pear together, and a lovely grassy plain dotted over
with strewn rocks and clumps of firs, and bounded by
a line of mountain peaks as wild and fantastic as
anything we have yet seen, lies spread out in sun
shine before us. This, according to the map, must be

334 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

the grand chain of which Monte Pramper and Monte
Piacedel (both as yet unascended) are the dominating
summits. Up here we encamp for an hour and a-half, Sub
Jove ; and the mules graze while we take luncheon.
Clementi vanishes up the hill-side, and returns by and
by with a bowl of cream in each hand, which, beaten
up with wine and sugar, and eaten in the midst of such
a scene, is at least as delicious as the " dulcet creams"
prepared by Eve for the Angel's entertainment. Mean
while the cow-herd comes down from the chalet to
stare at the forestieri, and is so overpaid with half a
lire that I begin to fear we must have given him a piece
of gold by mistake.
A deep, narrow gorge now leads down from a little
below the summit of the pass, to a point whence the
Val di Zoldo — sunny, cultivated, sparkling with vil
lages and spires — opens out far and wide beneath our
feet. And now, at last, we see the back of the Civetta.
Accustomed as one has become to the strangely
different aspects under which a Dolomite is capable of
presenting itself from opposite points of the compass,
here is a metamorphosis which the most erratic
imagination could never have foreseen. To say that
the Civetta is unrecognisable from the Zoldo side is to
say nothing ; for the mountain is so strangely unlike
itself that, although one has, so to say, but just turned
the corner of ,it, the discrepancy in form, in character,
and apparently also in extent, is almost past accept
ance. Calm, perpendicular, majestic on the side of

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. 335

Alleghe, here it is wild, tossed, tormented, and irregu
lar. From Alleghe, it appears as a vast, upright,
symmetrical screen — here it consists of a long suc
cession of huge, straggling buttresses divided by wild
glens, the birthplaces of mists and torrents. If from
Caprile the mountain looks, as I have said more than
once, like a mighty organ, from here it seems as if each
vertical pipe in that organ-front were but the narrow
end of rock in which each of these buttresses ter
minates. Looking at them thus in lateral perspective,
I can compare them, wild and savage as they are,
to nothing save that vista of exquisitely carved and
decorated flying buttresses just below the roof of
Milan Cathedral, which is known as the Giardino
Botanico. The Civetta was first ascended by Mr. F. F. Tuckett,
who gives the height at about 10,440 feet. The sum
mit, snow-crowned and lonely, is plainly seen from this
side, and looks as if it might be reached without
serious difficulty.
The Valley of Zoldo is richly cultivated ; the farm
houses are solidly built ; and the whole district wears a
face of smiling prosperity. The usual little dusty ham
lets with the usual religious frescoes on the principal
house-fronts, the usual little white church, and the
usual village fountain, follow one another rather more
thickly than in most other valleys. At San Nicolo,
where the valley narrows and the rocks close in upon
the rushing Mae far below, we enter upon an excellent
carriage-road which goes from this point, by an im
mense detour, to Longarone. At a certain village

336 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
called Dont, some way below San Nicolo, we had pro
posed to pass the night ; but being daunted by the dirt
and general disorder of the inn, push on for Forno di
Zoldo where Ball's Guide reports "comfortable quarters
at Cercena's inn."
Here we arrive at the end of another three-quarters
of an hour, and alight at the door of a very large, very
old, and very dirty-looking house up a small steep
street in the heart of the village. Passing through a
gloomy stone kitchen where some fifteen or twenty
harvesters are eating polenta out of wooden platters,
we are shown up a dark staircase and into a large
room, the floor of which is encrusted with the filth of
centuries. The sofa, the chairs, the window-curtains
look as if dropping to pieces with age and only held
together by cobwebs. The windows open on a steep
side-lane where all the children in the place presently
congregate, for no other purpose than to flatten their
noses against the panes and stare at us, till candles are
brought, and curtains can be drawn to exclude them.
As for the landing, which in most Tyrolean inns is the
cleanest and smartest place in the house, it is the
dreariest wilderness of old furniture, old presses, old
saddles and harness, sacks, undressed skins, and dusty
lumber of all kinds, that was ever seen or heard of out
side the land of the Don.
Yet the Cercenas themselves are well-mannered
superior people, and their forefathers have owned
estates in Val di Zoldo for over five hundred years.
The daughter-in-law of the house, a pretty, refined-
looking young woman, waits upon us, and is made

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. 337

quite wretched by our few and modest requirements.
We are not, I think, unreasonable travellers ; but we
have been riding and walking for nearly twelve hours,
and wish, not unnaturally, for water, towels, food, and
coffee. For all these things we have to wait inter
minably. That we should require a table-cloth is a
serious affliction, and that we cannot sup, like the hay
makers, off polenta, is almost more than young Sig
nora Cercena knows how to bear. A few small lumps
of smoke-blackened meat, a dish of unwashed salad,
and some greasy fritters are at length brought ; and
this young lady, while professing, I imagine, to wait
at table, walks over quite coolly to a looking-glass at
the farther end of the room, and there deliberately tries
on L.'s hat and all my rings and bracelets.
It is a dreadful supper, and is followed by a dreadful
night — hot, and close, and wakeful, and enlivened in a
way that has associated Forno di Zoldo, for ever in
my mind with that Arab proverb which describes
Malaga as a city "where the fleas are always dancing
to the tunes played by the mosquitoes."
The mules are brought round early next morning, for
we have a long day before us. Zopp£, distant rather
more than three hours from Forno di Zoldo, has to be
visited in the morning ; and at two p.m., on our way
back, we have promised, in compliance with Signora
Pezze's particular request, to call upon her married
daughter who lives at Pieve di Zoldo, about a quarter
of an hour above Forno. While we are at breakfast,
it being a little after five a.m., the church-bells
ring out a merry peal. Concluding that it is either a

33 S UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
Saint's-Day or a wedding, I enquire what the joyful
occasion may be, and learn, not without surprise, that
an old and highly respected inhabitant has just given
up the ghost.
The Val di Zoppe, sometimes called the Val di
Rutorto, branches away from the Val di Zoldo at an
acute angle from a point a little below Forno, and runs
off northward towards the Pelmo. Our way thither
lies at first through a chain of villages — Campo, Pieve,
Dozza, Pra, and Bragarezza. Passing Pieve, we are
met by Cesare Pezze who is to take us to the studio of
a certain self-taught wood-sculptor named Valentino
Gamba. He lives at Bragarezza — a miserable tumble
down hamlet on a steep hill-side a mile or two farther
on, where we first catch sight of him sitting in a
desponding attitude on the doorstep of a small cot
tage. Being addressed by young Pezze" and invited to show
his studio, he jumps up in red confusion, and leads the
way into a little back room where stands an enormous
oval frame of carved pine-wood destined for the Vienna
Exhibition of the present year (1873). It is an un
wieldy, overdone thing, loaded with Arabesques, fruits,
flowers, musical instruments, Cupids, and the like ; too
big ; too heavy ; fit neither for a mirror nor a picture ;
but quite wonderful as an effort of untaught genius.
An ideal bust of Italia, also in wood, is full of sweet
and subtle expression, and pleases me better than the
frame. What possesses me, that I should enquire the price
of that bust? It is life-size, and weighs — heaven only

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. 339

knows how much it weighs, but certainly as much as all
our scanty baggage put together ! I have no sooner
asked the unlucky question than, seeing the flash of
hope in the poor fellow's face, I reproach myself for
having done so. He asks only two hundred lire for it
— less than eight pounds — but I could no more be
burthened with it on such a journey than with the
church steeple. So I ask for his card, and, promising
to bid my English friends look out for his frame next
summer in Vienna, take my leave with the awkward
consciousness of having said more than I intended.
From Bragarezza, the way lies between forest-clad
hills up a constantly rising valley. The farther we go
the steeper and rougher the path becomes ; the more
desolate the valley ; the more noisy the torrent. Then
at last we have to dismount and let the mules scramble
on alone. Now the Pelmo, as yesterday, comes
suddenly into sight ; its huge, tawny, snow-ridged *
battlements rising close behind a near hill-side — so
close that it seems towering above our heads. And
presently — for we are only just in time to see it clearly
for a few minutes — a great white cloud sails slowly up
from somewhere behind, wrapping the mountain round
as with a mantle, so that we only catch flitting,
fragmentary glimpses of it now and then, through
openings in the mist.
Finally Zoppe, a tiny brown village and white church
perched high on a green mountain side, looks down
* These snow-ridges, which I have likened elsewhere to the steps of a
gigantic throne, are chiefly remarkable on the sides facing Zoppe? and the
Val d'Ampezzo. From the Val Fiorentino they are much less observable. x

34'o UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
upon us from the top of a steep path full 400 feet above
the valley.
That little white church contains the Titian which is
the glory of all this country-side. A long pull up the
hill in broiling sunshine brings us at last to the houses
and the church. The door stands open, and, followed
by all the men out of a neighbouring wood-yard, we
pass into the cool shade within. There, over the high
altar, hangs the Titian, uncurtained, dusty, dulled by
the taper-smoke of centuries of masses. It is a small
picture measuring about four feet by three, and
represents the Virgin and Child enthroned, supported
by San Marco and San Girolamo, with Santa Anna
sitting on the steps of the throne. It is, on the whole,
a perplexing picture. The Madonna and child, painted
in the dry, hard style of the early German school, look
as if they could not possibly have come from Titian's
brush ; the San Girolamo and Santa Anna scarcely rise
above mediocrity ; but the head and hands of San
Marco are really fine, and go far to redeem the rest
of the picture. The colour, too, is rich and solid
throughout. This altar piece, painted, it is said, by order of one of
the Palatini in 1526, is classed by Mr. Gilbert among
the " very few indubitable Titians " yet preserved
among the painter's native mountains ; but notwith
standing its reputation, I find it difficult to believe that
the great master painted much more than the head and
hands of San Marco.
The Paroco, hearing that there were strangers in
the church, came presently to do the honours of his

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. 341
Titian. He was a fat, rosy, pleasant little priest,
redolent of garlic, and attired in light-blue shorts, a
light-blue waistcoat, grey worsted stockings, and a long
black clerical coat, worn bottle-green with age. He
chattered away quite volubly, telling how Titian had
once upon a time come up to Zoppe for villeggiatura in
time of plague ; and how he had then and there painted
the picture by order of the aforesaid noble, who desired
to place it in the church as a thank-offering ; also how
it had hung there venerated and undisturbed for
centuries, till the French came this way in the time of
the First Napoleon, and threatened to rob the Commune
of their treasure, whereupon the men of Zoppe made a
wooden cylinder, and rolled the picture on it, and
buried it in a box at the foot of a certain tree up in the
forest. "And look!" said the Paroco, "you may see the
marks of the cylinder upon the canvas to this day.
And we have the cylinder still, Signora — we have the
cylinder still ! "
I said something, I no longer remember what, to the
effect that a genuine Titian was worth taking care of,
and that the Commune could not value it too highly.
" Value it !" he repeated, bristling up rather unneces
sarily. " Value it, Signora! Of course we value it.
Many governments have offered to buy it. We could
sell it for three thousand gold ducats to-morrow, if we
chose. Ebbene ! we are only six hundred souls up here
in the Paese. Our men are poor — all poor — contadini
in summer, legnatori in winter ; but no price will
purchase our Titian ! "

342 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
We afterwards learned that this public-spirited little
Paroco had been a mighty chamois-hunter in his
youth, and one of the first to scale the fastnesses of
the Pelmo.
Now we leave Zoppe on its hill side and come down
again into the valley, catching by the way some
wonderful glimpses of strange peaks peeping out
through mist and cloud in the direction of Monte
Sfornioi and the Premaggiore range. And now, after a
brief halt in the shade of a clump of trees beside a
spring, we go on again, descending all the way, till we
find ourselves back at Pieve di Zoldo and alighting at
the gate of a large white house, where we are welcomed
by young Pezze's sister, Signora Pellegrini. Now
Signora Pellegrini has married a man both wealthy and
well descended, and lives in a large, plentiful, patri
archal way, much as our English gentry lived in the
time of the Tudors. She carries her keys at her girdle,
and herself superintends her dairy, her cows, her pigs,
her poultry, and her kitchen. Being ushered up a
spacious staircase, and across a landing hung with
family portraits of Pellegrinis who were once upon a
time Bishops, Priors, Captains, and powdered Seigneurs
in ruffles and laced coats, we are shown into a recep
tion room where a table is laid for luncheon.
The master of the house is unavoidably absent, being
gone to a cattle-fair at Longarone ; but Cesare Pezze
takes his place at table, where everything is fresh,
abundant, home-made, and delicious.
After luncheon, we go to see the church — a large
structure with a fine Gothic nave, containing two or

¦FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. 343
three curious early Italian pictures, and an important
carved altar-piece by Andrea Brusetolon, the Grinling
Gibbons of South Tyrol, born in this valley of Zoldo in
the year 1662. It is a quaint, strange subject, admirably
executed, but not pleasant to look upon. They call it
the Altare degli Animi, or Altar of the Souls. Two
figures intended to represent Human Suffering and
Human Sorrow, each attended by a warning skeleton,
support the entablature on each side. Two angels and
a Pieta crown it on the top. The execution is ex
cellent, but the impression produced by the work is
infinitely painful.
That evening we wander about the fields and lanes
beyond the village, and the writer sketches some wild
peaks (called by some the Monte Serrata, and by others
the Monte Rochetta) which are seen from every point of
view about the place. There is, of course, the custom
ary difficulty of keeping intruders at bay. One old
woman in wooden clogs, having looked on for a long
time from her cottage-door, comes hobbling out, and
surveys the sketch with a ludicrous expression of
bewilderment. " Why do you do that ? " she asks, pointing with one
skinny finger, and peering up sidewise into my face like
a raven. I answer that it is in order to remember the mountain
when I shall be far away.
"And will that make you remember it ? " says she,
incredulously. To this I reply that it will not only answer that pur
pose, but even serve to make it known to many of my

344 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
friends who have never been here. This, however, is
evidently more than she can believe.
" And where do you come from ? " she asks next —
after a long pause.

MONTE SERRATA.

" From a country you have no doubt heard of many
a time," I reply. " From England."
" From England ! Jesu Maria ! From England !
And where is England ? Is it near Milan ? "
Being told that it is much more distant than Milan
and in quite the opposite direction, she is so confounded

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. .345
that she can only shake her head in silence, and hobble
back again. When she is half-way across the road,
however, she stops short, pauses a moment to consider,
and then comes back, armed with one last question.
"Ecco!" she says. "Tell me this — -tell me the
truth — why do you come here at all ? Why do you
travel ? "
To this I reply, of course, that we travel to see the
country. "To see the country!" she repeats, clasping her
withered hands. "Gran' Dio ! Have you then no
mountains and no trees in England ? "
That evening when we are at supper, Giuseppe comes
up to say that the young sculptor is below, having
brought the bust over from Bragarezza, to know if I
will make him an offer for it. Having brought the bust
over ! I picture him toiling with it along the dusty
road — I see him as I saw him this morning, pale,
anxious-looking, out-at-elbows ; and for the moment I
feel as if it were my fate to yield, and buy. Seeing me
waver, L. pronounces me a dangerous lunatic, and even
Giuseppe ventures respectfully to represent that if the
Signora were really to purchase the " testa di legno "
we should in future require an extra mule to carry it.
So— not daring to see him, lest I should commit the
foolish deed — I send down a polite refusal, and hear of
the poor fellow no more.
We are off again next morning by half-past five,
thankful to see the last of Forno di Zoldo, with its filthy
inn, its forges, and its noisy iron-trade. Far down by the
torrent-side in the steep hollow below the village, there

346 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
may be seen long rows of workshops whence the smoke
of many fires is always rising. Here the men of Zoldo,
who are for the most part blacksmiths, have made nails
from time immemorial, sending their goods down on
mule-back to Longarone, and getting up in the same
way stores of old iron from Ceneda, Conegliano, and
even Venice.
We are returning to-day to Caprile by a pass leading
from the head of the Val di Zoldo into the head of the
Val Fiorentino, winding round the foot of the Pelmo
between that mountain and the Monte Crot. For the
first four hours of the journey, we are simply retracing
our route of the day before yesterday. A little beyond
Dont (whence there is an easy and interesting way to
Agordo by the Val Duram) the Pelmo rises up, pale,
and shadowy, and most " majestical " ; while at San
Nicolo the Civetta comes into sight again, half-hidden
in rolling, silvery mists. Beyond Marezon, about half
way between that village and Pecol, the roads divide,
and we turn off from the Val di Zoldo up a long,
grassy, undulating valley lying between the Pelmo,
the Monte Crot, and the back of the Monte Fernazza.
This valley, known as the valley of Pallafavera, is the
common property of the Communes of Marezon and
Pecol, who divide the pastures equally.
Between the Monte Crot — a small but finely-shaped
pyramidal mountain — and the Pelmo, which from here
looks like a cloudy Tower of Babel, there rises a long
green slope leading to the top of the pass. Here, in the
shade of a big tree, on a grassy knoll, we call our first
halt. The saddles are taken off, and serve for chairs ¦

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE.

349

a running spring close by among the bushes supplies us
with clear water ; and Clementi again fetches cream
from a milk-farm a little farther on. So, sitting in the
open air, under the bluest of blue skies, eating cream
with wooden spoons out of a wooden bowl, we take our
rest in as purely pastoral a fashion as the heart of even
the fair Scudery could have desired.
The journey to-day is a long one, and it will be neces
sary to let the mules rest again by and by ; so we
presently go on again, and at about midday reach the
top of the pass, which is called by some the Passo di
Pallafavera, and by others the Forcella Staulanza.
Hence the path winds down among scattered pines and
larches to the very base of the Pelmo. At first the great
Dolomite shows as only one stupendous tower ; then
the second tower, till now hidden behind the first, comes
gradually into sight ; lastly, they divide, showing a dip
of blue sky between. Every turn of the path now brings
us nearer, so that the huge mass, rising ledge above
ledge, steep above steep, seems to hang above our heads
and shut out half the sky.
And now, being within two hundred feet of the base
of the mountain, we realise, as nearly as it is possible
to do so without attempting any part of the ascent, its
amazing size, steepness, and difficulty. We are so
near that a chamois hunter could hardly creep unseen
along one of those narrow ridges three or four
thousand feet above ; and yet the extent of the whole is
so enormous that a woman following a path leading
across yonder slope of debris, looks a mere speck
against the rock.

350 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
The Pelmo blocks the whole end of the Val Fioren
tino. The path leading over the low ridge just opposite
is the Forcella Forada (6,8g6 feet) leading direct to San
Vito at the foot of the Antelao in the Val d'Ampezzo.
It corresponds in position to the Forcella Staulanza
over which we have just come from the foot of the
Civetta in Val di Zoldo. The height of the Pelmo, so
far as has yet been ascertained, appears to be 10,377
feet ; that is to say, it is within a few feet the same as
that of the Civetta, and scarcely 200 feet below the
summit of the Antelao. The mountain has been
repeatedly ascended by the daring chamois hunters of
Val di Zoldo, who have discovered four separate ways
by which to reach the plateau on the top. It has also
been ascended by Fuchs, and by the author of the
" Guide to the Eastern Alps," who took it from the
Borca side, above the Val Najarone. The two best routes,
however, are supposed to be the one from Zoppe, and
the one from just above San Nicolo in the Val di
Zoldo. Mr. Ball describes the Pelmo as " a gigantic
fortress of the most massive architecture, defended by
huge bastioned outworks whose walls in many places
fall in sheer precipices for more than 2000 feet." He
furthermore says, " the likeness to masonry is much
increased by the fact that in great part the strata lie
in nearly horizontal courses, whence it happens that
many of the steepest parts of the mountain are traversed
by ledges wide enough to give passage to chamois
and their pursuers."
.From the Forcella Staulanza, the Monte Rochetta of
Val d'Ampezzo and the jagged ridge of the Bee di

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. 351
Mezzodi, are visible above the slopes of the Forcella
Forada. The topmost peak of the Civetta also peers
out above the fir-woods bordering the eastern face of
Monte Crot ; and far away, beyond the sunny vista of
the Val Fiorentino, the faint blue peak of the Marmolata
is seen against the horizon, its snow-slope outlined in
frosted silver.
And now, following the course of the infant Fioretino
torrent, we begin to leave the Pelmo behind at every
step. One by one, the villages of Pescul and Selva, the
Col di Santa Lucia, the Monte Frisolet, the Sasso
Bianco, come into view. Stopping for a few moments
at Pescul, we go into the little church to see a carved
tabernacle by Brusetolon— a tiny, toy-like thing,
evidently a recollection of the Baldacchino at St.
Peter's, supported upon flowery twisted columns,
crowned by an elaborate canopy, and enclosing a
crucifixion group with figures about three inches in
height. Some of the little angels and cherubs clustered
outside the canopy are so tenderly conceived and
executed as to remind one of the designs of Luca della
Robbia. The people of Pescul prize their little shrine,
just as the people of Zoppe prize their Titian, and
have refused large prices for it.
It is now one o'clock, and we have been upon the
road since half-past five a.m. The mules are tired
out, and stumble at every step. The Val Fiorentino
stretches on interminably, and the village of Selva,
where we are to rest for a good two hours, seems never
to draw nearer. We get there at last, however, and
put up at a small road-side albergo as rough as any we

352 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
have yet met with, but very clean and airy. Here the
tired mules get each a hearty feed of Indian corn ; the
men, bread and wine ; and we, being shown into a
whitewashed upstairs room, proceed to light the Etna
and brew a dish of Liebig.
The women of the house — and there are four of them
— pursue us to this retreat as soon as they have served
out the corn and wine below, and stand, wide-eyed and
open-mouthed, in a fever of curiosity, watching all we
do, as a party of children might watch the movements
of a couple of wild beasts in a cage. They examine our
hats, our umbrellas, our cloaks, and every individual
article that we have laid aside. The Etna stupifies
them with amazement. As for L.'s field-glass lying in
the window, they eye it askance, taking it evidently for
some kind of infernal machine that may be expected to
go off suddenly and blow up the whole establishment.
They are, in truth, mere savages — rosy, hearty, good-
natured ; but as ignorant and uncivilised as aboriginal
Australians. The biggest and rosiest of the four — apparently the
mistress of the house — emerging presently from the first
dumbness of her astonishment, pours forth a volley of
questions, repeating my answers with a triumphant air,
as if interpreting them to the rest, and cross-examining
me as eagerly and unsparingly as an Old Bailey counsel.
Where did we come from? From Forno di Zoldo! Si,
si — she knew that — the men down stairs had told her so
much. But before Forno di Zoldo. Where did we come
from before Forno di Zoldo ? From Caprile ! Che !
che ! she knows that also. But before Caprile ? Surely

FORNO DI ZOLDO AND ZOPPE. 353

we came from far away- — from lontana? Per esempio!
— where were we born ! In Inghilterra ! Madonna !
In Inghilterra !
Here she throws up her hands, and the other three
do the same.
" But have you come like this all the way from
Inghilterra ? "
What she means by " like this," it is impossible to
say. She probably supposes we have ridden the two
Nessols the whole distance by land and sea, with one
small black bag each by way of luggage ; but the easiest
answer is a nod of the head.
" Santo Spirito ! And alone ? — all alone ? "
Again, to save explanations, a nod.
" Eh ! poverine ! poverine ! (poor little things ! poor
little things !) Are you sisters ? "
A shake of the head this time, instead of a nod.
" Are you married ? "
Another negative, whereat her surprise amounts
almost to consternation.
" Come I Not married ? Neither of you ? "
" Neither of us," I reply, laughing.
" Gran' Dio ! Alone, and not married ! Poverine !
poverine ! "
Hereupon they all cry "poverine " in chorus, with an
air of such genuine concern and compassion that we
are almost ashamed of the irrepressible laughter with
which we cannot help receiving their condolences.
Being really tired and in want of rest, I am obliged
at last to dismiss both Coryphaeus and Chorus, and when
they are fairly gone, to lock them out. So at last we

354 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
eat our Liebig in peace, and, being only two hours from
home, with plenty of daylight still at our disposal, the
writer succeeds in getting a sketch of the Pelmo as it
appears through the open window, down at the far end
of the valley.
The rest of the journey lies chiefly along the rising
verge of Monte Frisolet, passing over the Col di Santa
Lucia. A little beyond Selva, we enter upon Austrian
territory, leaving it again on the hill-side above Caprile,
and reaching home by way of the old familiar zig-zag
a little after six p.m.

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN.

CHOICE OF ROUTES — GOODBYE TO CAPRILE— PIEVE D'ANDRAZ — THE
UPPER VALLEY OF LIVINALLUNGO— LAST SIGHT OF THE PELMO—
THE SELLA MASSIVE — THE CAMPOLUNGO PASS— CORFARA — A COMING
PAINTER — A POPULATION OF ARTISTS — TICINI AND HIS WORKS AT
CORFARA — A PHENOMENON — THE COLFOSCO PASS — THE GRODNER
THAL — THE CAPITAL OF TOYLAND — THE TRADE OF ST. ULRICH —
THE LADIN TONGUE — RELICS OF ETRURIA— THE PUFLER GORGE —
THE SEISSER ALP — THE LANG KOFEL, THE PLATT KOFEL, AND THE
SCHLERN — THE BATHS OF RATZES — DESCENT INTO THE VALLEY OF
THE EISACK — BOTZEN — THE ROSENGARTEN ONCE MORE — FAREWELL

THE ROSENGARTEN, FROM BOTZEN.

[P- 359-

CHAPTER XIV.
CAPRILE TO BOTZEN.
The time at length came for leaving Caprile — for
leaving Caprile, and the Dolomites, and the pleasant
untrodden ways of South Eastern Tyrol, and for drift
ing back again into the overcrowded highways of Italy
and Switzerland.
We were to re-enter the world at Botzen. All roads,
perhaps, led to Rome, when the Golden Milestone stood
in the centre of the known universe. So, too, all these
central Dolomite valleys and passes may be said to lead,
somehow or another, to Botzen. We had plenty of
routes to choose from. There was the comparatively
new char-road between Monte Latemar and the Rosen
garten, known as the Caressa pass. There was the
way by Livinallungo and the Gader Thai to Bruneck,
and the rail, from Bruneck to Botzen. Again, we
might follow the long line of the Avisio through the
Fassa, Fiemme and Cembra valleys, to Lavis, where
the torrent meets the Eisack and the road meets the
railway, not far from Trent. Or we might make for the
Grodner Thai and the Seisser Alp, and strike the
Brenner line at Atzwang, a little above Botzen.

360 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
We decided upon the last. It had many advantages
over the other routes. It would take us first along the
whole valley of Livinallungo ; show us the Sella
Massive from three sides of its vast circumference ;
carry us to St. Ulrich, which is to South Tyrol in
respect of the wood-carving trade what Interlaken and
Brienz are to Switzerland ; carry us over the Seisser
Alp close under the shadow of the Lang Kofel, the Piatt
Kofel, and the Schlern ; give us an opportunity of
visiting the Baths of Ratzes ; and finally land us at
Botzen in about a week, or even less, from the time of
starting. We parted from friends when we parted from the
hospitable Pezzes, and went away promising ourselves
and them soon to return again to Caprile. The
morning at five a.m. was cool and bright ; but we had
already been waiting some days for more favourable
weather, and the sky was still unsettled. The church-
bells were ringing as we rode out of the village, and the
usual procession of remonstrance was winding up
towards the church. This time, they were going to
pray for dry weather.
" Che ! che ! " said Clementi, contemptuously, " that
is the way they do, Signora ! The Paroco watches
his barometer ; and when the rain is near falling, he
calls the people together to pray for it. Perhaps it
comes down in the middle of the mass. Then he cries
' Ecco il miracolo ! ' — and, poor devils ! they believe
it." As far as Finazzer's little inn at Andraz, our road.
lay over ground already traversed. Then we crossed

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 361
the torrent, left the valley of Buchenstein opening away
to the right, and, skirting now the rising slopes of the
Col di Lana, continued our course up the main valley
of Livinallungo. At the large village known indiffer
ently as Livinallungo and Pieve d'Andraz, we paused
for an hour to feed the mules, and were served with ex
cellent coffee in the cleanest of wooden rooms by the
fattest of cheerful landladies. These people also are
Finazzers, and their opposite neighbours, who likewise
keep an inn, are Finazzers ; which is the more per
plexing as the one albergo is really comfortable, and
the other of doubtful report. The good one, however,
lies to the Eastward ; that is to say, to the right of a
traveller coming up from Caprile. The village, which
is the Capoluogo and post-town of the district, hangs
on the verge of a steep precipice, and stands nearly
1,500 feet higher than Caprile. The view from the
church-terrace is quite magnificent, and not only com
mands the deep-cut course of the Cordevole from its
source at the head of the valley down as far as Caprile,
but brings in the Civetta, the Marmolata, the Monte
Padon (or Mesola), the Sella Massif, and a host of
inferior peaks.
From Pieve d'Andraz as far as Araba — a dismal
looking wooden hamlet at the foot of the slopes below
the south-eastern precipices of the Sella — the valley
rises slowly and steadily. As it rises, it becomes
barren and uninteresting. The jagged peaks of Monte
Padon, emerging gradually from their hood of sullen
clouds, show purply-black against the sky. By and
by, the winding way having brought us, somehow,

362 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
in a line with the Val Fiorentino and higher than the-
intervening slopes of Monte Frisolet, we are greeted
with an unexpected view of the Pelmo. Shadowy,
stately, very distant, it closes the end of an immensely
long and glittering vista. We see it for a few moments
only, and for the last time. As the path trends inward,
it vanishes — as the Civetta and the Marmolata have by
this time also vanished. We shall see them no more in
the course of the present journey ; and who can tell
when, if ever, we shall see them again ?
And now the huge Sella takes all the horizon — a pile
of thickset, tawny towers, like half a dozen stumpy
Pelmos clustered together. The mass seems naturally
to divide itself into the five blocks respectively entitled
the Boe, or Pordoi Spitze, closing the head of the Fassa
Thai ; the Sella Spitze, looking up the Grodner Thai
the Pissadu Spitze overhanging the Colfosco pass
the Masor Spitze facing Corfara and the Gader Thai
and the Campolungo Spitze, dominating the Campo-
lungo pass, which we are now approaching. As we
strike northwards up the bare Col to the right, leaving
Araba and the Vale of Livinallungo far below, we have
these huge, impending bastions always upon the left.
The trees up here are few and stunted. The Alpine
roses are over, and only the bare bushes remain.
The golden lilies, the gentians, the rich wild flowers
that made most of the other passes beautiful, are all
missing ; and only a few scant blooms of Edelweiss
hide themselves here and there among the moss-grown
boulders. The mowers are at work, however, on
the slopes, getting in the meagre hay-harvest, and sing-

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 363
ing at their work. First one voice, then another, takes
up the Jodel. It is echoed and flung back from side to
side of the valley, now dying away, now breaking out
again, sweet, and liquid, and wild as the notes of a bird
— of which, no doubt, all these Swiss and Tyrolean
melodies were originally imitations.
Now, as we near the top of the Col, new mountains
come rising on the northern horizon ; — the Santa
Croce, or Heiligen Kreutz, a long mountain terminated
towards the west with a couple of twin peaks, like a
Cathedral with two short spires ; the dome-shaped
Verella Berg ; and the Sass Ungar, or Sassander
Kofel, which is in reality an outpost of the Guerde-
nazza Massif.
Just as we have reached the top of the pass and
begun to descend, a long, rumbling peal of distant
thunder rolls up from the Livinallungo side, and, look
ing back, we see the clouds gathering fast at our heels..
Down below, in a green, lonely hollow, lies Corfara ;.
consisting of about a dozen houses and a tiny church.
The way is steep, and soft, and slippery — the mules
can hardly keep their feet — the storm is coming up.
So we hurry, and slide, and stumble on as quickly as
we can, and arrive presently in the midst of thunder
and lightning at the door of Rottenara's albergo.
The little hostelry consists of two houses, an old and
a new. The new house is reserved for travellers of the
better class, and contains neither public room nor
kitchen. The family occupy the old house, cook in it,
and there entertain the guides and peasant-travellers.
The new house is made of sweet, fresh, bright pine-

364 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
wood. The upstairs rooms are all wood — floors, walls,
and ceilings alike. The ground floor rooms are plas
tered and whitewashed.
Who would have dreamed of finding Art in such a
place ? Who would have dreamed that the grave old
peasant covered with flour-dust who just now led the
mules to the stable, was the father of a young painter
of unusual promise ? Yet it is so. Franz Rottenara,
the son of our host, is an art-student at Vienna. The
house is full of his sketches. The first thing one sees
on going upstairs is a full-length figure of Hofer on the
landing, done on the wall in colours, life-size, admirably
drawn, with a banner in his right hand, and his rifle
slung to his shoulder. In the largest bedroom, one
end of which serves for a dining-room, hang some
capital oil studies of still-life, and several clever heads
in crayons. And down below, in a sort of lumber room
where the wet cloaks are hung to dry, every inch of
whitewashed wall is covered with graffiti — heads,
arms, hands, caricatures, full-lengths, half-lengths,
Frederic the Great, Goethe, Schiller, Mignon, Mephis-
tophiles, Hamlet, the Torso of the Belvedere, the
Fighting Gladiator, the Wild Huntsman, and many
more than I can remember or enumerate. The pretty
little madchen who serves our dinner is never tired of
answering questions about " mein Bruder zu Wien."
He painted those two still-life pictures when he was
here last summer, and the Hofer fresco four years ago.
He was always drawing, from earliest boyhood, and he
studied at Munich before he went to Vienna. He is at
home now — came home last night to serve his annual

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 365
month with the Corfara rifle-corps — and has just gone
over the hill to see friends at some neighbouring
village. Later in the day, when he returns from " over the
hill," the young artist, at my request, pays us a visit.
He is not yet five-and-twenty, and is as shy as a girl.
We talk a little about art ; but as Herr Franz is not
very strong in Italian, and as the writer's German is
limited, our aesthetic conversation is necessarily some
what dislocated. I gather enough, however, to see
that he has all the steady industry, the patient am
bition, and the deep inward enthusiasm of a German
art-student ; and I believe that he is destined to make
his mark by and by.
Corfara is, of course, over the Austrian border, and
its people are as thoroughly Austrian as if Campidello
and Caprile were not each within a few hours' journey.
Herr Franz is the only member of his family who
speaks Italian. Neither old Rottenara, nor his
daughter, nor any soul about the village, except the
priest, understands a syllable of any language but their
own. The great surprise of Corfara, however, is its church.
It is not wonderful, after all, to find a solitary genius
springing up here and there, in even the wildest soil.
Not many miles from Titian's birthplace we found the
Ghedinas. In the valley where Brusetolon was born,
we came upon the young wood-sculptor of Bragarezza.
It is not therefore so surprising that Corfara should
produce its painter. But it is certainly somewhat
startling, when — having strolled out by and by after the

366 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
storm has tailed off into a dull drizzle — we peep in at
yonder tiny humble-looking church, and find ourselves
in the midst of the most lavish decorations. Here,
where one would have expected to find only whitewash,
are walls covered with intricate mediaeval diapering ;
shrines, altars and triptychs loaded with carved and
painted saints, and gorgeous with profuse gilding ;
stalls, organ-loft, and seats elaborately sculptured ; all
in the most ornate style of early German Gothic ; all
apparently new ; all blazing with burnished gold and
glowing with colour.
The sight of this splendour is so amazing that for
the first few minutes one can only wonder in silence ;
and that wonder is increased when, happening presently
to meet the priest, we learn from him that all these
adornments are the work of the peasant population of
the place — of those very haymakers whom we heard
singing this morning in the hay — designed by them,
carved by them, painted by them, gilded by them ; and
the pious free-will offering of their hands. It is a small
place, and the inhabitants do not number more than
260 or 270 souls, children included ; " but," says the
priest, smiling, "they are all artists."
He is a gentlemanly priest, and expresses himself in
"very choice Italian." He speaks of Corfara in a
smiling, well-bred, deprecating way, as " a lost out-of-
the-world spot," and of the church, though one would
think he must feel proud of it, as "pretty for so poor a
place." When I praise the decorations, he shrugs his
shoulders, as implying that better might have been
done with larger means.

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 367

" One good thing we have, though," he says, " which
the Signoras have not seen ; but which I shall be
pleased to show, if they do not mind the trouble of
returning." So we turn back — this interview having taken place
just outside the churchyard gate — and, re-entering the
church, follow him to the back of the altar, where are
a pair of painted doors now folded back out of sight,
but brought round to the front, he says, in Lent, and
closed over the face of the altar. These paintings repre
sent the decollation of Saint Catherine, to whom the
church is dedicated ; and, according to the Paroco,
were executed in the XIV. or XV. Century by an Italian
artist named Ticini, who, as the story goes (and it is
always the same story with these village treasures)
being detained at Corfara by stress of weather, painted
these pictures and presented them to the church, in
return for the hospitality of the priest. Beyond this,
our Paroco has nothing to tell. He knows no more
than I, who this Ticini was ; when or where he lived ;
or whence he came. No mention of him occurs in the
comprehensive volumes of Crowe and Cavalcaselle on
" Painting in North Italy ; " and his works at Corfara
obtain not a line of notice in the pages of Ball's Guide,
or of Messrs. Gilbert and Churchill's " Dolomite
Mountains." I, who never even heard of him before,
can only judge from the style of his work that he was
a North Italian of the Bellinesque school. The paint
ings, which are of course on panel, are executed in a
brilliant, crystalline, early style, and recall the work of
Memling even more than the work of the Friulian

368 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
painters. The Saint Catherine, slender, round-faced,
and fair, is quite of the German type ; while the ex
quisite finish of the costumes, the delicate use of the
gilding, and the elaborate treatment of patterns and
textures, remind one of Carlo Crivelli.
Four other paintings, also on panel, representing
Saint Catherine and other saints, adorn the front of the
altar. These works, deeper in tone, but evidently be
longing to the same period, are supposed by the priest
to be by some other hand. At all events they are all
interesting ; while the larger paintings at the back are
unquestionably of rare beauty and value.
As we leave the church, two little girls come running
after the priest, to kiss his hand ; an act of homage
which he excuses to us in his apologetic, smiling way,
saying that it is the custom here, and that the children
are " simple, and mean well."
Being now come to where the paths diverge, he wishes
us a pleasant journey, lifts his little skull-cap with a
courtly air, and turns away to his own home — a
cheerful-looking white house with smart blinds and
pots of flowers in the windows, and a fat poodle sitting
at the gate.
Returning presently to the inn, just as the drizzle
thickens and the light begins to fail, we encounter a
Phenomenon. It stands in the little yard between the
Albergo and the Dependance, discoursing and gesticu
lating in the midst of a group composed of the
Rottenaras, our guides, and a few miscellaneous men
and stable-boys. It wears highlows, a battered straw
hat, and a brown garment which may be described

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 369
either as a long kilt or the briefest of petticoats. Its
hair is sandy ; its complexion crimson ; its age any
thing between forty-five and sixty. It carries a knap
sack on its back, and an alpenstock in its hand. The
voice is the voice of a man ; the face, tanned and
travel-stained as it is, is the face of a woman. She is
gabbling German — apparently describing her day's
tramp across the mountains — and seems highly gratified
by the peals of laughter which occasionally interrupt
her narrative.
" A guide? " she exclaims, replying to an observation
of some by-stander. "Not I ! What do I want with
a guide ? I have carried my own knapsack and found
my own way through France, through England, through
Italy, through Palestine. I have never taken a guide,
and I have never wanted one. You are all lazy fellows,
and I will have nothing to do with you. Fatigue is
nothing to me — distance is nothing to me — danger is
nothing to me. I have been taken by brigands before
now. What of that ? If I had had a guide with me,
would he have fought them ? Not a bit of it ! He
would have run away. Well, I neither fought nor ran
away. I made friends of my brigands — I painted all
their portraits — I spent a month with them ; and we
parted, the best comrades in the world. Ugh ! guides,
indeed ! All very well for incapables, but not for me.
I am afraid of nothing — neither of the Pope nor the
Devil ! "
Somewhat startled by this tremendous peroration, we
go in, and leave her discoursing ; and I don't know
that I have ever experienced a more lively sense of

370 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

gratification and relief than when I presently learn
that this lady is a German. She is no stranger, it
seems, at Corfara, but appears every now and then
in this mad fashion, sometimes putting up at the
Rottenara's, for several weeks together. She paints, she
botanises, and I think they said she writes. Giuseppe,
who describes her as a Signora " molto brutta e molto
allegra," tells next day how she supped that night at
the guides' table, and entertained them hugely.
The way from Corfara to St. Ulrich lies along the
Gader Thai, through the village of Colfosco, and up a
high and lonely valley between the Guerdenazza and
Sella Massifs.* There was not a living soul in
Colfosco as we rode through — nothing but a ghastly,
attenuated Christ against a house-side, nearly as large
as life, and splashed horribly, as if with blood, from head
to foot. The whole village was out on the hills, —
" The oldest and youngest
At work with the strongest,"
getting in the hay.
From above Corfara, and as far as the top of the
pass, our path lay close under the tremendous precipices
of that part of the Sella known as the Pissadu Spitze.
The mountain on this side assumes magnificent pro-
* The entire area of the Guerdenazza Massif is estimated at about
twenty-two square miles, and its level at something over 9000 feet above
the level of the sea. The Sella Massif cannot cover an area of less than
fourteen square miles. The principal summit of this latter, i.e., the Bod, or
Pordoi Spitz, ascended by Dr. Grohman, is by him given at 10,341 feet. I
am not aware that any of the other four summits have been scaled. In
superficial extent, the Guerdenazza and Sella Massifs exceed all other
Dolomite blocks.

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 371
portions, preserving always its characteristic likeness to
a Titanic fortress, and showing now and then, through
clefts in those giant ramparts, glimpses of a great snowy
plateau within, with here and there a blue fold of down
ward-creeping glacier, or a fall of misty cascade. As
we mount higher, the last patches of corn and flax give
place to a broad, desolate space of boggy turf inter
sected by a network of irregular cattle-tracks, and
scattered over with scores of wooden crosses. These
mark where travellers have been found dead. They say
at Corfara that this Colfosco Col is the most dangerous
of all the Dolomite passes, and that the wind in winter
rages up here with such fury that it drives the snow and
sleet in great clouds which bury and suffocate men and
cattle in their progress. There is also no defined
path, and the bog is everywhere treacherous.
And now, the summit reached and passed, the Lang
Kofel rises on the left above woods and hill tops — a
vast, solitary tower with many pinnacles. A sheltered
gorge thinly wooded with fir-trees opens before us ; the
long-impending rain begins again, hard and fast ; and
the path becoming soon too steep for riding, we have to
dismount and walk in a pelting storm down a steep
mountain-side to Santa Maria Gardena, which is the
first hamlet at the head of the Grodner Thai. Here we
put up at a tiny osteria till the sky clears again, and
then push on for St. Ulrich.
Our way now lies along the Grodner Thai, green and
wooded and sparkling with villages. The Sella is
gradually left behind. The Lang Kofel becomes more
lofty and imposing. The Piatt Kofel, like a half-dome,

372 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
rises into view. The wooded slopes of the Seisser Alp
close in the valley on the left ; and the Schlern, seen
for the first time through a vista of ravine, shows like a
steep, black wall of rock, flecked here and there with
snow. Every last trace of Italy has now vanished. The
landscape, the houses; the people, the names and signs
above the doors, are all German. The peasants we
meet on the road are square-set, fair, blue-eyed, and
boorish. The men carry wooden krazen on their backs,
as in Switzerland. Unmistakeable signs and tokens
now begin to tell of the approach to St. Ulrich. The
wayside crucifixes are larger, better carved, better
painted, and some are picked out with gold. By and
by we pass a cottage outside the door of which stands a
crate piled high with little wooden horses. In the
doorway of another house, a workman is polishing an
elaborately carved chair. And presently we pass a cart
full of nothing but — dolls' legs ; every leg painted with
a smart white stocking and an emerald-green slipper !
And now the capital of Toy-land comes in sight — an
extensive, substantial-looking hamlet scattered far and
wide along the slopes on the right bank of the torrent.
The houses are real German Tyrolean homesteads,
spacious, many-windowed, with broad eaves, and bright
green shutters, and front gardens full of flowers. There
are two churches — a little old lower church, and a large,
smart upper church, with a bulbous belfry tower painted
red. And there are at least half a dozen inns, all of
which look clean and promising. The whole place, in
short, has a bright, prosperous, commercial air about

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 373

it, like a Swiss manufacturing town. Here, at the
Gasthaus of the White Horse, we are cordially received
by a group of smiling girls, all sisters, who show us
into excellent rooms, give us roast-beef and prunes for
supper, and entertain us with part-songs and zitter-
playing in the evening.
That night there came another thunderstorm followed
by three days of bad weather, during which we had more
time than enough for enquiring into the curious trade of
the place, and seeing the people at their work.
For here, as I have said, is the capital of Toy-land.
We had never even heard of St. Ulrich till a few weeks
ago, and then but vaguely, as a village where wooden
toys and wayside Christs were made ; and now we find
that we have, so to say, been on intimate terms with
the place from earliest infancy. That remarkable
animal on a little wheeled platform which we fondly
took to represent a horse — black, with an eruption of
scarlet discs upon his body, and a mane and tail derived
from snippings of ancient fur-tippet — he is of the purest
Grodner Thai breed. Those wooden-jointed dolls of all
sizes, from babies half an inch in length to mothers of
families two feet high, whose complexions always came
off when we washed their faces — they are the Aborigines
of the soil. Those delightful little organs with red pipes
and spiky barrels, turned by the hardest-working doll
we ever knew ; those boxes of landscape scenery whose
frizzly cone-shaped trees and red-roofed houses stood
for faithful representations of " Tempe and the vales of
Arcady" ; that Noah's ark (a Tyrolean homestead in a
boat) in which the animals were truer to nature than

374 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VAILEYS.
their live originals in the Zoological Gardens ; that
monkey, so evidently in the transition stage between
man and ape, who spends his life toppling over the
end of a stick ; those rocking-horses with an arm-chair
fore and aft ; that dray with immovable barrels ; those
wooden soldiers with supernaturally small waists and
triangular noses — all these — all the cheap, familiar,
absurd treasures of your earliest childhood and of mine —
they all came, Reader, from St. Ulrich ! And they are
coming from St. Ulrich to this day — they will keep
coming, when you and I are forgotten. For we are
mere mortals ; but those wooden warriors and those
jointed dolls bear charmed lives, and renew for ever their
indestructible youth.
The two largest wholesale warehouses in the village
are those of Herr Purger, and of Messrs. Insam and
Prinoth. They show their establishments with readi
ness and civility ; and I do not know when I have seen
any sight so odd and so entertaining. At Insam and
Prinoth's alone, we were taken through more than
thirty large store-rooms, and twelve of these were full of
dolls — millions of them, large and small, painted and
unpainted, in bins, in cases, on shelves, in parcels ready
packed for exportation. In one room especially
devoted to Lilliputians an inch and a half in length,
they were piled up in a disorderly heap literally from
floor to ceiling, and looked as if they had been shot out
upon the floor by cartloads. Another room contained
only horses ; two others were devoted to carts ; one
long corridor was stocked with nothing but wooden
platforms to be fitted with horses by and by. Another

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 375
room contained dolls' heads. The great, dusk attic
at the top of the house was entirely fitted up with
enormous bins, like a wine-cellar, each bin heaped high
with a separate kind of toy, all in plain wood, waiting
for the painter. The cellars were stocked with the
same goods, painted and ready for sale.
Now, the whole population of the place, men and
women alike, being with few exceptions brought up
to some branch of the trade, and beginning from the
age of six or seven years, the work is always going on,
and the dealers are always buying. It is calculated
that out of a population which, at the time of the
last census, numbered only 3493 souls, there are
two thousand carvers — to say nothing of painters and
gilders.* Some of these carvers and painters are
artists, in the genuine sense of the word ; others are
mere human machines who make toys, as other human
machines make match-boxes and matches. A "smart"
doll-maker will turn out twenty dozen small jointed dolls
one inch and a half in length, per diem ; and of this
sized doll alone Messrs. Insam and Prinoth buy 30,000
a week, the whole year round.f The regular system is
for the wholesale dealers to buy the goods direct from
the carvers ; to store them till they are wanted ; and
only to give them out for painting as the orders come
in from London or elsewhere. Thus the carver's
work is regular and unfailing; but the painter's,
* Baedeker for 1888 gives the population as still only 3845.— Note to
Second Edition.
t This means a doll turned out every three minutes in a working day of
twelve hours, which seems almost incredible ; yet I but faithfully repeat
what was told me on the spot. Z

376 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
being dependent on demands from without, is more
precarious. The warehouses of Herr Purger, though amply
supplied with dolls and other toys, contain for the most
part goods of a more artistic and valuable kind than
those dealt in by Messrs. Insam and Prinoth. All
the studios in Europe are furnished with lay-figures
large and small from Herr Purger's stores, and even
with model horses of elaborate construction. Here
also, ranged solemnly all the length of dimly lighted
passages, stand rows of beautiful Saints, large as life,
exquisitely coloured, in robes richly patterned and
relieved with gold : — Saint Cecilias with little model
organs; knightly Saint Theodores in glittering armour;
grave, lovely St. Christophers with infant Christs upon
their shoulders ; Saint Florians with their buckets ;
Madonnas crowned with stars ; nun-like Mater Dolo-
rosas ; the Evangelists with their emblems ; Saint Peter
with his keys ; and a host of other Saints, Angels, and
Martyrs. In other corridors we find the same goodly
company reproduced in all degrees of smallness. In
other rooms we have Christs of all sizes and for all
purposes, coloured and uncoloured; in ivory; in ebony;
in wood ; for the benitier ; for the oratory ; for the
church-altar ; for the wayside shrine. Some of these
are perfect as works of art, faultlessly modelled, and in
many instances only too well painted. One life-size
recumbent Figure for a Pieta was rendered with an
elaborate truth, not to life, but to death, that was
positively startling. I should be afraid to say how many
rooms full of smaller Christs we passed through, in

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 377
going over the upper storeys of Herr Purger's enormous
house. They were there, at all events, by hundreds of
thousands, of all sizes, of all prices, of all degrees of
finish. In the attics we saw bin after bin of crowns
of thorns only.
One day was devoted to going from house to house,
and seeing the people at their work. As hundreds do
precisely the same things, and have been doing them all
their lives, with no ideas beyond their own immediate
branch, there was an inevitable sameness about this
part of the pilgrimage which it would be tedious to
reproduce. I will, however, give one or two instances.
In one house we found an old, old woman at work,
Magdalena Paldauf by name. She carved cats, dogs,
wolves, sheep, goats, and elephants. She has made
these six animals her whole life long, and has no idea
of how to cut anything else. She makes them in two
sizes ; and she turns out as nearly as possible a
thousand of them every year. She has no model or
drawing of any kind to work by ; but goes on steadily,
unerringly, using gouges of different sizes, and shaping
out her cats, dogs, wolves, sheep, goats and elephants
with an ease and an amount of truth to nature that
would be clever if it were not so utterly mechanical.
Magdalena Paldauf learned from her mother how to
carve these six animals, and her mother had learned, in
like manner, from the grandmother. Magdalena has
now taught the art to her own grand-daughter ; and so
it will go on being transmitted for generations.
In the adjoining house, Alois Senoner, a fine, stalwart,
brown man in a blue blouse, carves large Christs for
z 2

378 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &* UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS
churches. We found him at work upon one of three-
quarters life-size. The whole figure, except the arms,
was in one solid block, fixed upon a kind of spit between
two upright posts, so that he could turn it at his
pleasure. It was yet all in the rough, half tree-trunk,
half Deity, with a strange, pathetic beauty already
dawning out of the undeveloped features. It is a sight
to see Herr Senoner at work. He also has no model.
His block is not even pointed, as it would be if he cut
in marble. He has nothing to guide him, save his
consummate knowledge ; but he dashes at his work in
a wonderful way, scooping out the wood in long flakes
at every rapid stroke, and sending the fragments flying
in every direction. But then Alois Senoner is an
artist. It takes him ten days to cut a figure of three-
quarters life-size, and fifteen to execute one as large as
life. For this last, the wood costs fifteen florins, and
his price for the complete figure is forty-five florins ;
about four pounds ten shillings English.
In another house we found a whole family carving
skulls and cross-bones, for fixing at the bases of
crucifixes — not a cheerful branch of the profession ; in
other houses, families that carved rocking-horses,
dolls, and all the toys previously named ; in others,
families of painters. The ordinary toys are chiefly
painted by women. In one house, we found about a
dozen girls painting grey horses with black points. In
another house, they painted only red horses with white
points. It is a separate branch of the trade to paint
the saddles and head-gear. A good hand will paint
twelve dozen horses a day, each horse being about one

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 379
foot in length ; and for these she is paid fifty-five soldi,
or about two shillings and threepence English.
I have dwelt at some length on the details of this
curious trade, for the reason that, although it is prac
tised in so remote a place and in so traditional a way,
it yet supplies a large slice of the world with the
products of its industry. The art is said to have been
introduced into the valley at the beginning of the
last century ; no doubt, on account of the inexhaus
tible supply of arollas, or Pinus Cembra, yielded by
the forests of the Grodner Thai, the wood of which
is peculiarly adapted for cheap carving, being very
white, fine-grained, and firm, yet soft and easy to work.
The people of St. Ulrich have lately restored and
decorated their principal church, which is now the
handsomest in South Tyrol. The stone carvings and
external decorations have been restored by Herr Plase
Oventura of Brixen, and the painted windows are by
Naicaisser of Innsbruck. The polychrome decorations
are by Herr Part of St. Ulrich ; the large wooden
statues are by Herr Mochneght, also of St. Ulrich ;
and the smaller figures on the altars and pulpit, as well
as the wood-sculpture generally, are all by local artists.
Colour and gilding have of course been lavishly
bestowed on every part of the interior ; but the general
effect is rich and harmonious, and not in the least
overcharged. Above the high altar hangs an ex
cellent copy of the famous Florentine Madonna of
Cimabue. The dialect of the Grodner Thai, called the Ladin
tongue, is supposed to be directly derived from the

380 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
original Latin at some date contemporary with the
period of Roman rule. It differs widely from all ex
isting dialects of the modern Italian, and though in some
points closely resembling the Rhaeto Romansch of the
Grisons, and the Lower Romanese of the Engadine, it
is yet, we are told, so distinctly separated from both by
"well-marked differences both grammatical and lexi
cographical," as to indicate " kinship rather than
identity of stock." Those, however, who admit with
Steub the unity of the Rhastian and Etruscan lan
guages, and whd agree with Niebuhr in believing the
Rhaetians of these Alps to have been the original
Etruscan stock, will assign a still remoter origin to
this singular fragment of an ancient tongue. It cer
tainly seems more reasonable to suppose that the tide
of emigration flowed down originally from the moun
tains to the plains, rather than that the aboriginal
dwellers in the fertile flats of Lombardy should have
colonised these comparatively barren Alpine fastnesses.
This view, the writer ventures to think, receives strong
confirmation from the fact that a large number of
sepulchral bronzes, distinctly Etruscan in character,
have been discovered at various times within the last
twenty-five years in the immediate neighbourhood of
St. Ulrich. These objects, collected and intelligently
arranged by Herr Purger, may be seen in his show
room. They fill two cabinets, and comprise the usual
articles discovered in graves of a very early date, such
as bracelets, rings, fibulae, torques, ear-rings, weapons,
&c, &c. Philologists may be interested in knowing
that there exists a curious book on the Grodner Thai

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 381
and its language, with a grammar and vocabulary of
the same, by Don Josef Wian, a native of the Fassa
Thai, and present Paroco of St. Ulrich.
From St. Ulrich to the Seisser Alp, the way leads up
through a wooded ravine known as the Pufler gorge.
Weary of waiting longer for the weather, we start at
last on a somewhat doubtful morning, and find the
paths wet and slippery, and the mountain streams all
turbid from the rain of the last three days. Neat
homesteads decorated with frescoed Saints and Ma
donnas, and surrounded like English cottages with
gardens full of bee-hives and flowers, are thickly scat
tered over the lower slopes towards St. Ulrich. These
gradually diminish in number as we ascend the gorge,
and after the little lonely church and hamlet of San
Pietro, cease altogether.
Hence, a long and steep pull of about a couple of
hours brings us out at last upon the level of that vast
and fertile plateau known as the Seisser Alp — the
largest, and certainly the most beautiful, of all these
upper Tyrolean pasture-mountains. Scattered over
with clumps of dark fir-trees, with little brown chalets,
with herds of peaceful cattle, with groups of hay
makers, and watched over by a semicircle of solemn,
gigantic mountains, it undulates away, slope beyond
slope, all greenest grass, all richest wild-flowers, for
miles and miles around. Yonder, to the South-West,
the great plateau rolls on and on to the very foot of the
Schlern, which on this side looms up grandly through
flitting clouds of mists. A low ridge of black and shat
tered rocks, called the Ross-zahne, or Horse-teeth,

382 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

from its resemblance to a row of broken teeth in a jaw
bone of rock, connects the Schlern with the North end
of the Rosengarten range, as well as with the South
ern extremity of the Seisser Alp, and with the ridge
out of which rise the Piatt Kofel and Lang Kofel.
But the Rosengarten is quite hidden in the mists
that keep flying up with the wind from the side of
Botzen. The Lang Kofel, however, stern and solitary, with a
sculptured festoon of glacier suspended above a deep
cleft in the midst of its bristling pinnacles ; and the
Piatt Kofel,"' crouching like an enormous toad, with
its back towards the Schlern, show constantly, some
times singly, sometimes both together, sometimes in
sunshine, sometimes in shadow, as the vapours roll and
part. A vast panorama which should comprehend the Mar
molata and Tofana, and many a famous peak beside,
ought to be visible from here ; but all that side is wrapt
in clouds to-day, and only the Sella and Guerdenazza
Massifs stand free from vapour. Now and then the
curtain is lifted for a moment towards the West, re
vealing brief glimpses of wooded hills and gleaming
valleys bounded by far mountain-ranges, blue, tender,
and dream-like, as if outlined upon the sunny air.
* Ball gives the Lang Kofel a height of 10,392 feet, and the Piatt Kofel,
9,702 feet. The latter he reports as "easily accessible from Seiss, or more
conveniently from Santa Christina in the Grodner Thai." The Lang Kofel
was ascended for the first time by Dr. Grohmann in 1869 ; partly ascended
by Mr. Whitwell in 1870; and again ascended to the highest summit on
the nth of July, 1872, by Mr. U. Kelso, accompanied by Santo Siorpaes of
Cortina.

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 383
But (apart from the view it commands of its three
nearest neighbours, the Lang Kofel, Piatt Kofel, and
Schlern) the great sight of the Seisser Alp is — the
Seisser Alp. Imagine an American prairie lifted up
bodily upon a plateau from 5,500 to 6,000 feet in height
— imagine a waving sea of deep grass taking the broad
flood of the summer sunshine and the floating shadows
of the clouds — realise how this upper world of pasture
feeds from thirteen to fifteen hundred head of horned
cattle ; contains three hundred herdsmen's huts and
four hundred hay-chalets ; supports a large summer-
population of hay-makers and cow-herds ; and measures
no less than thirty-six English miles in circumference —
and then, after all, I doubt if you will have conceived
any kind of mental picture that does justice to the
original. The air up here is indescribably pure, invigo
rating, and delicious. Given a good road leading up
from Seiss or Castelruth and a fairly good Hotel on the
top, the Seisser Alp, as a mountain resort, would beat
Monte Generoso, Albisbrunn, Seelisburg, and every
" Sommerfrisch " on this side of Italy out of the field.
The peasants of these parts preserve vague traditions
of a pre-historic lake said once upon a time to have
occupied the centre of this Alpine plateau ; a legend
which gains some colour from the fact that were it not
for the gap of the Pufler gorge, down which the drainage
flows to the Grodner Thai, there would at this present
time be a lake in the depression on the summit.
Having wandered and lingered up here for nearly a
couple of hours, we at length begin descending by the
course of the Tschippitbach, a torrent flowing down the

384 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

deep cleft which separates the Seisser Alp from the
North West face of the Schlern.* Coming presently to a
cheese-maker's hut a few hundred feet below the edge
of the plateau, we call our midday halt. A bench and
table are accordingly brought out and set in the shade ;
the good woman supplies us with wooden bowls of rich
golden coloured cream ; the mules graze ; the guides
go indoors and drink a jug of red wine with the herds
man and his sons ; the mists roll away, and the huge
aiguilles of the Schlern start out grandly from above
the woods behind the chalet — as if on purpose to be
sketched. From this point down to the Bath-House at Ratzes,
the way winds ever through fir-forests which exclude
alike the near mountains and the distant view. About
half-way down, we pass within sight of the ruined shell
of Schloss Hauenstein, once the home of Oswald of
Wolkenstein, a renowned knight, traveller, and Minne
singer, who was born in the year 1367 ; fought against
the Turks at Nicopolis in 1396 ; was present at the
storming of Ceuta in 1415 ; encountered innumerable
perils by land and sea in the Crimea, in Armenia,
Persia, Asia Minor, Italy, Spain, England,, Portugal,
* The height of the Schlern is only 8,405 feet ; but it stands up in such a
grand solitary way, and its precipices are so bare and vertical, that it looks
higher than many a more lofty Dolomite. The easiest ascent is from Vols,
and the view from the top, though said not to be so complete as that from the
Ritterhorn nearer Botzen, is extremely fine, and comprises the Adamello,
Ortler, Oetzthal, and Antholzer Alps. The South Eastern horizon, however,
and consequently all the Primiero Dolomites, are concealed by the near mass
of the Rosengarten. " No mountain in the Alps has acquired so great a
reputation among botanists for the richness of its flora, and the number of
rare plants it produces, as the Schlern." — Ball's Eastern Alps, p. 484.

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN.

385

and the Holy Land ; and died here in the castle of
Hauenstein in the year 1445. He was buried in the
church of the famous Abbey of Neustift near Brixen,
where his tomb may be seen to this day. His love-

THE AIGUILLES OF THE SCHLERN.

songs, hymns, and historical ballads, are published at
Innsbruck, collated from the only three ancient MS.
copies extant, one of which belongs to the present
Count Wolkenstein, one to the Imperial Library at
Vienna, and one to the Ferdinandeum at Innsbruck.

386 UNTRODDEN PEAKS &• UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.
A more rough and primitive place than the little
Bath-House of Ratzes it would be difficult to conceive.
It lies at the foot of those tremendous aiguilles which
we saw just now from the herdsman's chalet ; but we
have come down some 1800 feet since then, and now
find ourselves at the doors of a building that can only
be described as two large wooden chalets united by a
covered gallery. The bath-rooms occupy the ground-
floor, and the bedrooms the two upper storeys. A tiny
chapel ; a small bowling-ground ; one large general
Speise-Saal, where eating, smoking and card-playing
are going on all day long; and a tumble-down Depend
ance about three hundred yards off for the reception of
the humbler class of patients, complete the catalogue of
the attractions and resources of Ratzes. What the
accommodation in that Dependance may be like it is
impossible to conjecture ; for here in the " Establish
ment," a small bedroom measuring ten feet by eight,
containing a straw-stuffed bed, a wooden tub, a chair,
a table, a looking-glass the size of a small octavo
volume, and no scrap of carpet or curtain of any kind,
is the best lodging they have to offer.
The mistress of Ratzes — -a lively, clear-headed,
business-like widow, with nine children — makes up
seventy beds in the Bath-House, and could find occu
pants for seventy more if she had more space. Her
customers are for the most part small tradesmen and
their families from Botzen, and peasant-farmers from
the neighbouring villages. Two springs, one impreg
nated with iron and the other with sulphur, supply these
visitors with baths and medicine. There is a priest in

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 387
daily attendance, but no doctor ; and the patients
appear to choose their springs at hap-hazard. The
baths are of the simplest kind — mere pine-wood boxes
coffin-shaped, with wooden lids just reaching to the
chin of the occupant, and a wooden shelf inside to
support the back of his head. These boxes, ranged
side by side in rows of eight or ten, fill a succession of
gloomy, low-roofed basement chambers, and look ex
actly like rows of coffins in a series of dismal vaults.
This impression is heightened very horribly when the
unwary stranger, peeping timidly in, as I did, through
a wide open-door, sees a head solemnly peering up from
a coffin-lid in a dark corner, and hears a guttural voice
saying in sepulchral accents : — " Guten Abend."
One night at Ratzes is enough, and more than
enough, to satisfy the most curious traveller. Of its
clatter, its tobacco-smoke, its over-crowded discomfort,
its rough accommodation, one has in truth no right to
complain. The place, such as it is, suits those by
whom it is frequented. We who go there neither for
sulphur, nor iron, nor to escape from the overpowering
heat of Botzen, are, after all, intruders, and must take
things as we find them.
We leave Ratzes the next morning at half-past nine,
having to be down at Atzwang by two p.m. to catch the
train for Botzen. The morning is magnificent ; but we
are all sad to-day, for it is our last journey with the two
Nessols. The path winds at first among fir-forests,
rounding the base of the great Aiguilles, and passing a
ghastly cleft of ravine down which a huge limb of
the Schlern crashed headlong, only twelve years

388 UNTRODDEN PEAKS fir- UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS.

back, strewing the gorge, the pastures, and all the
mountain slope with masses of gigantic debris.
Now, still and always descending, we pass farms,
hamlets and churches ; pear and cherry orchards ; belts
of reddening wheat and bearded barley ; and come at
last to an opening whence there is a famous view.
From here we look over three great vistas of valley —
Northward up the Kunters Weg as far as Brixen and
the Brenner ; Southward towards Trient and the Val di
Non ; North-Westward along the wide path of the
upper Etsch in the direction of Meran. At the bottom
of a deep trench between tremendous walls of cliff,
close down beneath our feet as it seems, flows wide
and fast the great tide of the Eisack. The high-road
that leads straight to Verona shows like a broad
white line on this side of the river ; the railway, a
narrow black line burrowing here and there through
tiny rabbit-holes of tunnel, runs along the other. A
whole upper-world of green hills, pasture alps, villages,
churches, corn-lands and pine-forests, lies spread out
like a map along the plateaux out of which those three
valleys are hewn ; and beyond this upper world rises
yet a higher — all mountain-summits, faint and far-
distant. From this point the path becomes a steep and
sudden zigzag. It is all down — down — down. Pre
sently we come upon the first vineyard, and hear the
shrill cry of the first cicala. And now the rushing
sound of the Eisack comes up through the trees • and
now we are down in the valley — crossing the covered
bridge — dismounting at the station. Here is Atzwang;

CAPRILE TO BOTZEN. 389
here is the railway ; here is the hot, dusty, busy, dead-
level World of Commonplace again !
At Atzwang we part from Clementi and the mules,
Giuseppe going on with us to Botzen. Clementi is
very loth to say goodbye; and L. " albeit unused to the
melting mood," exchanges quite affecting adieux with
fair Nessol. As for dark Nessol, callous to the last, he
shakes his ears and trots off quite gaily, evidently aware
that he has finally got rid of me, and rejoicing in the
knowledge. And now, arriving at Botzen, we arrive also at the
end of our midsummer ramble. For a week we linger
on in this quaint old mediaeval town — for a week the
pinnacles of the Schlern and the grand facade of the
Rosengarten yet look down upon us from the heights
beyond the Eisack. As long as we can stroll out every
evening to the old bridge down behind the Cathedral,
and see the sunset crimsoning those mighty precipices,
we feel that we have not yet parted from them wholly.
They are our last Dolomites ; and from that bridge we
bid them farewell.

THE END.

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO , PRINTERS, WHITEFRIAKS.

3 9002 00580 0827